


Girls Just Want to Have an Apocalypse

by tyanite



Series: Girls Just Want to Have an Apocalypse 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Vessels, Angel Family, Angels, Azazel's Special Children, Codependency, Demons, Ezekiel | Gadreel Possessing Sam Winchester, F/F, F/M, Fallen Angels, Gen, God's A+ Parenting, Human Castiel, Lucifer Being a Dick, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Metatron Being a Dick, Mostly Gen, Multi, Season/Series 09, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 63,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyanite/pseuds/tyanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Demon and an Angel walked into a bar. </p><p>This sounds like the set up for a very bad joke but not quite. The real set up to the joke was when five other angels and demons join their brethren meet in the ruins of what was once St. Mary’s Convent in Ilchester, Maryland, where they intend to summon the Devil and the Archangel Michael from their prison. </p><p>The punchline is to follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wherein Baking is discussed

**Author's Note:**

> My very first long fic. Wow.
> 
> I started brainstorming a bunch of different ideas for how s9 could have gone, or just a bunch of other ideas and coming up with 'what if's and from the brain soup that followed, this fic arose. 
> 
> This is also a classic example of how I become massively fixated on minor characters who have two episodes at best...Two scenes at worst. So I hope you all enjoy your random side-characters!
> 
> Originally this was titled Mood Whiplash: The Fanfiction, just to give you a taste of what is coming. 
> 
> This is a Season Nine AU where I slow things down a little, and then the fic takes off on it's own from there. I'm sure you will notice when things go off the script.
> 
> Updates on Sundays! 
> 
> There is a lot of it, and unfortunately un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. If any of you are reading this and would like to Beta a chapter or two for me, I would absolutely love to have your help. Just drop me an note at [my tumblr](http://www.courtofdolls.tumblr.com)! Or if you notice an error in the abundance of errors that I am certain is here, please comment and let me know! Or if you want to offer a critique, comment! Or if you want to just say hi, you can always do that!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and I hope I can have y'all for the long haul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Dean's Mysterious Egg Substitute, Dean's Potty Mouth

It had been weeks. Long, stressful, frustrating weeks and Dean was about ready to crack. He was actually _stress baking_. He hadn’t even known that was a thing until he had started doing it around three in the morning and hadn’t stopped now that it was edging on nine in the afternoon.

Dean had a lot to feel stressed about. Setting aside the shit-your-pants terrifying news that all of the Angels had been cast out of Heaven, setting aside the fact that Abaddon, Knight of Hell, was after his meat, setting aside the fact that every single Demon that crawls its way out of the Pit is now entirely and completely on his head, Dean hadn’t heard a word from Cas since he told him to haul ass for the Bunker and, oh yeah, Sam was dying and the only thing stopping him from dying was the fact that Dean had tricked his brother into being possessed by an angel.

They were quickly running out of room in the kitchen and dining areas to store all the trays and trays of baked goods. Dean had long since run out of eggs, vanilla extract, brown sugar and chocolate chips but those were only minor stumbling blocks to what may be turning into a full 24 hours of thermonuclear cooking.

In the library, the other two bunker residents were carefully making themselves busy in reading and trying their best to become invisible, just in case the baking spilled out of the kitchen.

As the clock clicked from 8:59 to 9:00, Kevin threw down his pen and looked at the kitchen. “Sam, he is still baking.” Kevin announced in a conspiratorial whisper, as if Dean could hear them from all the way over there.

“I know, Kevin.” Sam said.

_“How?”_

Sam shrugged and set down his pen, trying for casual but falling fifty miles out of that territory. Because if Sam were being perfectly honest with himself, he had been watching the scene unfolding in the kitchen just as anxiously as Kevin was now. He had even done several mental calculations, trying to decide when exactly Dean would run out of ingredients and exactly how many pies his brother could make before he spontaneously combusted or collapsed from exhaustion.

“It’s been nineteen hours, Sam.” Kevin hissed across the table.

“I know.” Sam said tightly. “You would have thought he would have run out of ingredients by now.”

“We have to stop him, Sam.” Kevin intoned urgently.

Sam looked up at the kitchen where the banging issuing from the metal counters could only forebode worse to come. “You’re right.” He said, then stood up. “It’s time we staged an intervention.”

“Wait—we?” Kevin said and squeaked a little as Sam put a hand on his shoulder, pulling the teenager up and into the kitchen.

 

The easiest thing to say about the kitchen was that it wasn’t a _complete_ disaster. It seemed that when Dean was waiting for whatever he was making to finish baking, or chilling, or rising or whatever, he had started cleaning which lead to a kitchen that was simultaneously cleaner than ever but also covered in food.

Dean was currently mixing up what looked like it probably would have been just as at home in a sewer as most of the stuff they hunted and that propelled Sam forward into the kitchen.  

“Dean, we need to talk.”

Dean looked up from the bowl and then ducked his head down again, stirring the thick, brown concoction. “What’s up, Sammy?”

“What _is_ that?” Kevin broke in before Sam could say anything and Dean looked up at the prophet and then down at the bowl again.

“Uh. I think it was going to be Banana bread or something. I put some peaches in it and uh…” Dean glanced across at an open plastic bag, “and dried currants.” He paused a long moment. “What the hell is a dried currant?”

“Dean, you’ve got to stop baking.” Sam said quickly, cutting in by shoving a scone into Kevin’s opening mouth. Kevin choked a little, coughing while Sam plowed on ahead. “Do you have any idea how long you’ve been at it? It’s seriously unhealthy, dude.”

Dean frowned. “It’s not—I’ve been—Shut up Sam.”

“You ran out of eggs hours ago.” Sam pointed out after a quick peek inside the industrial sized fridge. “And Milk. And butter. And flour.”

“Yes, Sammy, thank you for telling me shit _I already knew._ ” Dean snapped, returning to his stirring.

“You do understand that what your cooking can technically count as vegan and gluten free, right?” Sam asked carefully.

Dean froze, spatula half raised over the bowl.

“You’re baking _hippie food_.” Sam pressed his advantage.

Dean slowly set down the spatula. Kevin had recovered and consumed the offending scone and was now picking his way across the kitchen.

“Dean, put the cooking down and go…watch some porn or something. Just please stop baking.” Sam pleaded, and he was hoping he sounded soothing, rather than on the edge of desperation that he was feeling.

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean said, nodding his head rhythmically. “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop.”

Sam held back a sigh of relief as Dean stepped away from the counter, picking his way across the labyrinth of baked goods and deserts. He paused near the door, looking back at the bowl and before he could say anything, Sam was already cutting in with a quick, “Kevin and I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”

Dean frowned a little, but he didn’t argue the point, just turned and stalked out of the kitchen without another word. Sam and Kevin waited until Dean’s footsteps had disappeared entirely deeper into the bunker before letting out a shared sigh of relief.

“I can’t believe that worked.” Kevin said, picking up a chocolate chip cookie.

“Me neither,” Sam admitted, leaning against the counter.

“He must be really worried about Cas, huh?” Kevin asked quietly.

“And the Angels, and the Demons, and me,” Sam sighed, gesturing vaguely. “But this is weird. I mean, he used to go out and beat shit until everything looked like how he felt. This is so…”

“Domestic?”

“Yeah.” Sam rubbed the back of his head, then laughed a little. “To be honest, I don’t know which one is healthier.”

“If these cookies are anything to go by, baking is.” Kevin commented.

Sam sighed and then turned back to the bowl of brown sludge on the counter. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“Hey, save it.” Kevin said, cracking a weak smile. “We can feed it to Crowley. I think that counts as torture, doesn’t it?”

 

Because of the way Dean had cooked-and-cleaned, there was actually very little to do when it came to getting the kitchen back in order. The Men of Letter’s Bunker had been made to host a small army, after all, so Sam actually had very little difficulties storing all of the food away.

Kevin spent most of the time eating, since they had both skipped out on any meals for the day while Dean was on his baking frenzy, Sam joined in after a while, digging into one of the savory pies Dean had made after he had run out of fruit to put in pie.

While Sam was cleaning up the last of the plates, Kevin was savoring one of the custards they had uncovered in the fridge and after a bit of poking and prodding, had come to the conclusion was Creme Brûlée. After a little bit of experimentation with the blow torch, Kevin had successfully gone through two servings of the rich desert.

“You know,” Kevin said, licking the last remains of the custard from the bowl. “I think this Coffee Liquor Creme Brûlée, even if it was still a little warm.”

Sam nodded vaguely and then froze, a thought suddenly dawning on him. Kevin seemed to get the same thought at the same time because he froze, ramekin still hovering over the table as the blood drained from his face and he met Sam’s horrified gaze.

“Didn’t he run out of eggs hours ago?” Kevin squeaked. “Sam, Creme brûlée has eggs in it. Sam. _What was he using instead of eggs?_ ”

Sam didn’t say anything, just stared at the ramekin and the prophet. Kevin looked at the ramekin too and then let out a horrified noise and dropped it, running from the room with a hand clamped over his mouth.

*********************

Castiel was tired of urinating. He was tired of urinating, bathing, eating, sleeping and all the other inconveniences that came from humanity. How did humans do it?

When he was an angel, he hadn’t paid much thought to the daily, or even hourly, aspects of human life. It was all too inconsequential to him. One does not follow an individual ant’s track as much as the track of the whole colony. At least, that was the angelic thought, one which Castiel had long since abandoned for an old black car and a place in its back seat.

But even then, he hadn’t exactly stuck around 24/7. And now he was learning first hand, humanity was _exhausting_.

Sure, he had once come close to human, but nothing like this. At the time he had thought he had sunken down as far as he could have gone, but that was not true. Not even remotely true.

For a start, Castiel had had the backseat of the Impala to fall asleep in, the first time around.

No amount of cramping up into old abandoned cars and dirty buses would replicate the feel. It made sleep come hard, frustratingly wrestled out of pure exhaustion and little else. And when Cas finally did fall asleep (rarely, and after much difficulty), the dreams came and those? Those were possibly the worst part of being human.

Cas would wake up with a start from hard-earned sleep and after the initial terror died down and he remembered where he was and what was happening, Cas would feel an overwhelming _need_ to call Dean and hear the familiar drawl of the hunters voice. Cas needed it like he needed water, or food. Like his life depended on it.

But then he would swallow it, like he did the food and water and air and other discomforts of humanity and move on. There were Angels after him, and no matter what, when Cas got down to thinking about it strategically, tactically, Sam and Dean were safest if they were away from him. So he kept moving and distancing himself from Kansas, where the Winchesters were waiting for him.

Of course, it’s not easy. Travel is so much slower as a human, and he has to stay to populations. He stays in shelters and works his keep there doing volunteer work as much as he can. Cas hates to beg, hates to take people’s things, be it food or money or space to share, but sometimes they insist, sometimes they just leave the offer hanging. Sometimes human’s generosity touches Cas so strongly tears flow, unbidden, out of his eyes.

Cas only wishes he could do something to repay humanity for all it’s given him, despite his sins, his mistakes and failures. Curled in the back of a broken down bus and trying his best to fall asleep, Castiel missed Dean’s prayers most of all.

*********************

The Angel living in Sam Winchester was probably one of the only Angels in Heaven who had not heard the name Winchester before. He was, most definitely, among the one or two living Angels who had never heard the name ‘Castiel’ before.

The Angel had introduced himself to Dean as Ezekiel and had previously thought he would be mostly content laying hidden inside Sam’s body and healing him bit by bit. But then he started listening to the voices of his brothers and suddenly the gravity of his situation had dawned on him.

He was quickly learning about both the Winchesters, and Castiel and was growing rapidly nervous about the situation he had landed himself in. He hadn’t thought, hadn’t known, when he answered Dean Winchester’s prayer to save Sam that he would be throwing in his chips with the two greatest allies of Heavens now greatest enemy and traitor.

But then again, the Angel was quietly determined to do as much good as he could. And Sam Winchester, he had decided, was the first place to start. Maybe there would even be good to come from helping the brothers find Castiel. At least, it felt right, he thought. But then again, most things the Angel did _felt_ right, no matter how wrong it was.

The Angel living in Sam Winchester was not actually named Ezekiel.


	2. Wherein Paths are Crossed and Things Get Kind of Shaky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel remains hymenated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Dean’s Potty Mouth, Something Happens in Detroit, Ezekiel is a Precious Babe and Enough Angst to go Around.

Dean was sulkily picking his way through the second apple pie of the morning. Once he had come down off the baking high, he had been left with a crushing sense of guilt and an entire kitchen and pantry stuffed full of food. Since there was little to do about the guilt or the stress that hadn’t quite left his mind, Dean at least could do something about the food.

And, Dean wouldn’t lie, he made a pretty damn good apple pie.

Sam poked his obnoxiously long haired head around the corner and pussyfooted his way in, trying his best to act casual and failing rather spectacularly.

“Hey,” Sam said, tucking his hands into his back pockets.

“Hey.”

“So…You want to talk about what happened yesterday?”

Dean gave Sam a flat look that spelled out, very clearly just how much Dean really wanted to talk about what happened yesterday.

“You kinda went…” Sam barreled onwards, like Dean hadn’t made his intention not to talk perfectly obvious. And Sam was using _that_ tone; the kind that he only used while approaching grief stricken civvies or his brother apparently.

“Baking crazy, yeah I know.” Dean said, cutting him off before he could formulate the right tactful way of phrasing. “I’ve been eating pie all morning. So yeah, I know.” He gave Sam another very pointed look, hoping that would silence his brother. But when did that ever work for him?

“You’re worried about Cas.” Sam said. Apparently he was done with skirting the issue and cut right to the chase.

Dean swallowed, the pie loosing all flavor in his mouth. “I’m not doing this.” Dean said, dropping the fork into the tray and pushing it away from him.

Sam fixed him with an intense gaze, rooting him to his chair. “It’s been too long, and you know it. You’re freaked out because Cas is out there, and human, and—“

“I am _not_ worried about Cas right now, Sam!” Dean snapped. “I am worried about you.”

“Me?” Sam actually scoffed a little. “I’m fine, Dean.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause last time I checked, those trials really messed you up.”

“I told you Dean, I feel great! Better than great! I haven’t felt this good in ages, and besides—“ Sam sat up straight suddenly, like somebody had replaced his spine with a steel rod as his eyes flashed. “—Perhaps Sam’s health is not the most pressing concern at the moment.”

Dean actually jumped a little, which was quite an accomplishment. He swore darkly, staring down at the pie tin before forcing himself to look up at him again. “Zeke.“

“Sam is doing well.” Ezekiel reported. “Soon he will be fully recovered.”

“That’s great, but Zeke—“

“I have news. I have been listening to the other Angels. It seems they are beginning to get organized. Factions are forming.” Ezekiel paused a moment, the kind of mechanic lapse into silence that Angel’s seemed to give in place of hesitation before Dean met his eyes and he continued. “One of the larger factions have put out a bounty for the fugitive Castiel.”

Dean froze, staring up at him. “They put a hit out on Cas?”

Ezekiel nodded slowly. “But we can infer that because they are offering a reward should he be found that they cannot find him easily.”

Dean nodded slightly, while Ezekiel sat up a little straighter, his features softening a little in a way that might have been a smile but looked so very foreign on Sam’s face.

“You see, Dean,” Ezekiel said, “I can be useful.”

Dean swallowed and couldn’t bring himself to look up at him, dropping his eyes to the table. “Yeah, well. So can my brother. So, why don't you go check your e-mail, and if I need your help, I'll let you know.”

“Dean.” Ezekiel frowned a little, about as expressive as angels get.

“I said I'll let you know.” Dean snapped.

Ezekiel paused for a moment before his eyes glowed grace-blue and suddenly Sam was back, “—you’ve been checking your phone almost constantly, waiting for Cas to call.” Sam said, like there ha been no lapse in conversation at all.

“I’m gonna get freaking whiplash like this.” Dean muttered to himself.

“What?” Sam looked at him confused.

“Nothing.” Dean said quickly. Then he took a deep breath. “Look, you’re right. I am worried about Cas, so you know what, let’s go find him.”

“What?” Sam was now gaping at him.

Dean pushed back from the table. “He should have been here by now, so since he’s not, we’ll go out and find him and escort his human-ass back to the safety of the bunker.”

Sam was still staring at him but luckily he seemed to know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth because as Dean headed off for a shower and to get dressed, he pulled open his laptop and began to get to work.

*********************

Dean looked over the map, staring at the lines of roads and cities and towns on its surface, within the carefully measured and drawn circles. He was trying to mentally picture which ways Cas would have taken.

Ezekiel seemed to want desperately to be helpful. Dean wouldn’t’ve exactly been complaining about having a friendly angel on their side, now that Cas was human, but healing Sam was more important. Sam was always priority. Except when he wasn’t.

Dean shoved away that thought deep into the piles of things he didn’t ever want to dissect ever and looked over at Sam.

“Alright so, each circle represents how far he could have gotten in this time from Colorado, where he called us. Got any clues, shaggy?” 

Sam threw his brother a half-assed bitch face and leaned back. “Yeah, homicide just outside Longmont, same day he called. Cops said it was like the girl was blasted from the inside out.”

“Angel kill.” Dean said, looking over Sam’s shoulder at the computer. “They might have just missed Cas.” Unless they got him.

Sam opened another window, another news article. “You got an Emory Park, Iowa?”

Dean moved back to the map, carefully tracing the map. “Emory Park, Emory park…I just saw that” He muttered, then tapped it once he found it. “Yeah, found it.”

“Okay, because two priests were murdered there. Eyes blown out, evidence of torture. They were impaled on posts.”

“Torture?” Dean’s mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“Yeah.”

“The Angels are looking for info.” Getting greedy and racing for the prize. “Man, if they get to him before we do…” That panic was trying to squeeze it’s way back into his stomach, but Dean didn’t let it take ahold. This time he could channel it into something worthwhile, something useful.

 “Yeah…” Sam repeated, still staring at the screen.

*********************

They were able to track him through a few shelters—Cas at least got cagey, using fake names but he was not yet good enough at blending in that he couldn’t be recalled with a brief description—before the trail went cold. Worst was Cas was moving erratically. He didn’t seem to stay in one place more than a few days, and there didn’t seem to be much order to his movements.

Of course, Dean realized that this made it harder for the Angel’s that were after him to find him. But it also made it harder for the Winchesters to track him down.

When there was another body of an Angel kill in Lafayette, Dean tried not to envision going to the morgue and finding Castiel laid out on the slab.

But instead, it was just some unlucky pharmacist who had been ridden by one.

The trail lead them to the homeless encampment where the former pharmacist slash angel had been found and right up against a group of stubbornly silent individuals who refused to even tell them if they had _seen_ Cas.

“Look, we’re not cops!” Dean cried, frustrated at the wall of silence. “Do we look like cops?!”

The gathered people gave him a pointed look.

“Well, we’re not!” Dean snapped, and Sam touched his shoulder and Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to reel himself back in. He was frustrated, yeah, but he had no right to take it out on random civvies. Civvies whose help they needed if they wanted to find Cas.

“Clarence is our friend,” Sam said, soothingly, using the name Castiel had given the homeless shelter in Emory Park. “We’re really worried about him and we want to find him. That’s all.”

“Please,” Dean added and he was _absolutely not begging_.

One of the men shifted slightly. “Clarence left in the night.” He said, finally.

“Shortly after the vic—“ Dean caught himself. “Victim died?”

 The man shrugged.

“Did you see where he was headed?” Sam asked.

“To Detroit.” The man responded. “He hitched a ride.”

“Detroit?” Sam frowned and Dean tried to ignore the uncomfortable tightening in his stomach that was forever associated with the city. “How do you know he was headed to Detroit?”

“The truck said Motor City Meats.”

Great. Dean moved back towards his car and opened the back, pulling the last bag full of baked goods out of the trunk. Except for the pies and easily spoilable goods, Dean and Sam had successfully given out most of the goods to the people who needed it on their search. Dean opened the bag, showing the contents to the man who had helped them.

“Can you hand these out?”

The man looked at the food and at Dean uncertainly.

“He owns a bakery.” Sam offered, which had been their cover before. “These are overstock.”

“They're yours.” Dean pressed and the man reached out and took the bag.

“Thank you,” He said. “I hope you find Clarence.”

“Thanks for your help.” Sam said and Dean was already pulling open the Impala’s front door, sliding into the front seat. They were getting closer but they were still a long way from finding Castiel.

*********************

Cas shivered against the rain, the meager shelter of the overhang doing little to stop the water falling on him or the chill from getting in but it’s the best he can do for now.

He would move on, once the rain stopped, he told himself. He had no desire to linger in Detroit any longer than he needed to, but he had needed to find food and rest before traveling any further.

A kind stranger had given him a sandwich and Cas had been ready to set off to find a place to take shelter for the night when the rain had begun. He had been forced into a doorway, the fabric hoodie providing little relief against the cold rain. He was outside a diner, and he could smell the grease from outside and it made Cas’ chest ache from something he told himself must be hunger despite his heavy stomach.

Over the downpour, Castiel could hear the sounds of passing cars and he sighed, pressing his forehead to his knees in an attempt to keep some sort of heat to his body. Cas couldn’t bring himself to hate a location, but Detroit seemed to disagree with him.

He would stay here until the rain stopped, then he would attempt to move on, walking if he had to, get away from this place and hope to remain hidden. The angels had gotten too close for comfort, but the sigils now tattooed onto his flesh should hide him. At least, for the time being.

Cas closed his eyes, knowing it would not do to try and catch the always elusive possibility of sleep, but he would try it anyway. He must have come real close too, because Castiel could have sworn he heard the rumble of the Impala on the street nearby.

But that, too, must have been a dream.

*********************

The Diner had all the fixing a Winchester needed to be at home: Greasy food, free wifi and pie on the desert menu.

Sam was already making good use of the free wifi, his laptop open and a map of Detroit spread out across the formica table while Dean fidgeted on the uncomfortable vinyl booth and looked at the map like it would magically reveal what he wanted if he stared hard enough.

“I bet he’ll try and bunker down for the night here.” Sam was saying, fingers and eyes seeming to function independently, hacking into country records, searching for strange deaths or anything that might lead them closer to finding Cas. “After getting attacked in the middle of the night he would have had to stop to rest up.”

“So he’s out there, somewhere.” Dean said.

“Basically.”

“How are we going to find him?”

“Well…We can try looking around different shelters or homeless camps…” Sam said but Dean could hear a tone of hopelessness in it. “But I don’t know if he would go to a camp after what just happened…”

They were so frustratingly close. Yet Detroit didn’t exactly have a small homeless population. To compare it to looking looking for a needle in a haystack was not even close to expressing the kind of daunting task they had before them. And on a ticking clock too, because if Cas was as desperate to get out of this city as Sam and Dean were, he would leave as soon as he could and Sam and Dean would have to pick up his trail to god-knows-where again.

Dean cast one more quick look around the diner and then leaned forward, staring at his brother. “How do you think we can find him?” He asked, trying to stare through his brother’s familiar eyes to the stranger lurking inside.

Sam frowned. “I just told you Dean—“

 Dean waved his hand. “I know, Sam, but I’m talking to _you_.” He said, stressing the word.

Ezekiel seemed to take the hint, because Sam’s eyes flashed blue and the Angel peered out at Dean through Sam’s body. “Dean…” Ezekiel started.  

“No. I need to know. Can you find Cas?”

The Angel straightened up and looked ahead into space, falling completely still as he did. There was a long silence while waitress came by, refilling their coffee and Ezekiel finally moved to stare between her and the coffee and Dean flashed her a quick “Thanks, sweetheart,” before turning back to Ezekiel once she had moved on.

“Well?” Dean pressed.

“I cannot find him. He must be warded against Angels.”

“Of course he is.” Dean muttered to himself, picking up his coffee and taking a sip, biting back the burn. “Don’t you have anything at all that could help us, Zeke?”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Ezekiel said, staring at him with a strange expression. Dean stared down at the coffee cupped in his hands, scowling. Then, Ezekiel added, quietly. “I really do wish I could find him.”

Dean glanced at the Angel and told himself the tightness in his throat was about the stranger staring out of his brother’s face, not what he said. “Thanks, Zeke.” He said, clearing his throat. “I’d like my brother back, now.”

Sam’s eyes flashed again and Sam was just Sam. He was still giving Dean a confused expression but now Dean was staring at the map, trying to pick apart what he could. Sam sighed, and returned to his laptop, reaching for his coffee cup on instinct but pausing at its weight.

Sam glanced at the full cup and frowned a little.

*********************

Dean was startled awake in the middle of his sleeping shift and looked around, his knife drawn.

It took him a moment to put together the sensation he was feeling and what had woken him and by the time he did, it had faded away.

“Did we just have an earthquake?” Dean asked, staring around blearily.

“Yeah.” Sam said from besides him, coffee in hand, running over the directory list of names they had gotten from the shelters of who was staying there that night. “I think we did.”

“Goddamn it.” Dean grumbled, flopping back down onto the bed and stuffing his knife under his pillow. “It would’ve happened in fucking Detroit.”

*********************

The Earthquake’s epicenter was not, as Dean had thought, located in or near Detroit. In fact, it had occurred several miles south east, near Baltimore.

“And, get this,” Sam continued, reading off the news article over their breakfast, “There was also an explosion in Ilchester, right around the time of the Earthquake. Right where…Oh.” Sam broke off suddenly, his expression changing.

“What?” Dean stared at him. “Right where what, Sam?”

“Right where St. Mary’s coven used to stand, before it was destroyed in a similar explosion in 2009.”

The brothers fell silent, staring at the computer together.

“We’ve got to get out there, Dean.” Sam said, urgently, breaking the silence.

“What?” Dean’s head snapped up to look at his brother. “No, no. No way.” 

“But Dean—“

“We aren’t going anywhere.” He said, firmly. “You are staying here and I’m going to check it out.”

“But—“

“No buts, Sammy!” Dean growled. “Cas is still out there and you’re still recovering.” Sam opened his mouth to argue but Dean barreled on ahead, “and it’s probably nothing. Just natural disaster. That kind of junk. Weird shit happens.”

“Dean…”

“Please, Sam.” Dean was already standing, throwing his clothes into his bag. “Just find Cas, okay? I’ll call you when I get there.”

Sam sighed, sinking back into his chair. “Okay.”

“Good.” Dean pulled open the door and bit back every panicking instinct inside him and headed out to his car. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. Except when was it ever that easy for them?


	3. Wherein Consent and The Importance of Carefully Selected M&Ms are discussed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the forces of Heaven and Hell can learn the super power of teamwork!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Brief Mentions of (Past) Torture, Angel Consent Issues, Nudity, Potty Mouth All Around and Alcohol is consumed in copious amounts

Imagine you are a Demon. Imagine you are a Demon who has just gone through the long and arduous job of tracking down the earthly entrance to your father, Lucifer’s, cage and have killed a church full of Nuns in order to speak to him.

Now imagine that Lucifer tasked you with the duty of finding him a vessel proper so that when he rises, he may take form on the material plane. This is what you do:

Take a bag of M&M’s and pick out only the red ones and eat the other colors. Now, of the red M&M’s, select two and place them between your thumb and index finger and slowly apply increasing amounts of pressure on the two pieces of candy. Eat the first one that breaks and select another M&M and repeat the test, eating the loser.

Continue to do this until you are left with one remaining M&M. Tape that M&M to an index card and mail it to Lucifer as the clearly superior M&M for his dark purposes.

Now, repeat the test, only using human infants instead of M&M’s, the infants you’ve fed your own blood to from a very specific family line instead of the Red ones and instead of you crushing them, let them crush themselves.

Done: you now have a clearly superior vessel for the Dark Lord Satan.

Only, this plan is massively flawed, as Lucifer and the Demon who ran this test, Azazel, found out. Because humans have a pesky little thing called Free Will and Dean Winchester. The champion red M&M did not give his consent and Lucifer was forced to occupy an inferior vessel for a good majority of his time on earth.

The reality was, though, that any one of those red M&M babies would have worked. But don’t tell Azazel that.

*********************

Ava Wilson was not having fun in Hell.

Truthfully, nobody _really_ has fun in Hell, unless you are the rare true masochist or Alistair. But Ava was having a particularly bad run.

She wasn’t really sure what would happen when she died, but she supposed she shouldn’t have been too surprised when she wound up in Hell. After all, she had murdered several innocent people and had worked with and controlled Demons. But somehow, in life, Ava hadn’t really expected Hell to be there, and real, and where she was going.

Ava hadn’t really been a bad girl. Murder and demon-controlling notwithstanding, Ava had actually been a decent enough human being. She had donated a modest sum to the charities she thought were worth donating to, and she was, in general, mindful of others. She had even raced out to try and warn a complete stranger about his own impeding death, which had done him quite a bit of good and her none at all.

But all those little things did very little for her when things came down to the nitty gritty because when the points were tallied and the scales measured, Ava Wilson was sent down to Hell and it absolutely _sucked_.

That’s why she was rather surprised when one day she came back to life.

She woke up with a gasp on her back in the middle of nowhere. She stared up at the sky for a very long time, trying to decide if this was a new form of torture—okay, sure Alistair seemed to have gone on extended shore leave and most Demons are not really any more creative than him—or if this was really happening.

When she shivered and decided that the sticks and pinecones digging into her back and ass were not nearly uncomfortable enough to really count as torture, she slowly sat up and cast a look around her.

She appeared to have woken up right in the middle of what looked like some pretty damn devastated landscape. Ava had once seen photos of Hiroshima after the bomb was dropped. This looked an awful lot like that, but with a lot less survivors.

She was also completely naked, which was not any fun at all.

“Trust not god for He is no Shepard, He wears sheep’s clothing and hides among His flock.” said a voice from besides Ava and she cried out in surprise, covering herself up as best as she could with her arms and whirling around.

There was a man sitting besides her, staring blindly into space and hugging his knees to his chest, with dark hair and who was (thankfully) clothed. If he was aware he had an audience, he sure didn’t give it away because he just continued to talk.

“They say the Prodigal Son should return repentant, but repentance is not in his nature. But home will still welcome him back with joyous song. And yet he will once more exile himself.”

“Um. Hello?” Ava asked, still carefully covering herself and arranging herself on the ground so that she could pretend at least that she wasn’t naked in a field with a strange man.

“They cannot have an end without the other.” He said, like she wasn’t there. “The script is gone, they’ve burned it before.”

“Okay then…” Ava sighed and looked around. Clearly she was the only one here with her marbles still in check.

“God is in the symmetry. It’s more than coincidence…it’s…it’s…” He frowned, trailing off and then sharply turned, looking at Ava. She jumped a little, flinching back at the sudden change. “Be vigilant, don’t give your body for free: Always ask for conditions.”

“Uh, okay?” She said, because even though it was nonsense, he seemed really adamant about it. “Look, um…” She waited for him to give her a name but he just stared at her. Ava cleared her throat and started over. “I’m Ava. Who’re you?”

“Michael.” He answered, then flinched. “No, no..that’s not right.” He looked down, frowning and looking incredibly distressed. And he only seemed to grow even more distressed while he frowned and sat and muttered through names that seemed to all end with -iel or -ael, shaking his head more with each one more and more violently. Clearly that was the wrong question to ask.

“Woah!” Ava cried out, putting a hand on his arm. “Woah there cowboy, slow down. I get it, bad topic, sorry…”  

He forced himself to take a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I can remember myself,” he said, but he didn’t look any more stable than he had a second ago.

“No, no, that’s okay. No need to hurt yourself or anything.” Ava said quickly. “Do you at least know how we, um, got here?”

"Man was created from dirt and blood," he mumbled, brokenly, "Woman was created from ash and bone."

"Okay then..." Ava said slowly. He whimpered a little and continued to rock. "So uh, you wouldn't happen to know where I can find some clothes?"

"There are no fig trees here."

Ava sighed because clearly she was getting nowhere with beautiful mind over there and looked around. She was fairly certain even wastelands would call this place barren and lifeless.

A thick, unnatural silence settled over them. There wasn’t even a bird or structures for wind to whistle through. It was just quiet.

She was mentally working up the courage to ask beautiful mind if he could spare one of his layers of shirts so that she could at least cover herself up a little when his head snapped up.

“They’re coming.”

Ava stiffened on instinct, freezing like a deer in headlights and began scanning their surroundings for approaching figures or shadows or smoke or anything.

Just the sun beating down on them, out from behind a cloud and bright. Had the sun always been that bright?

“No!” The boy shouted, suddenly, covering his ears. “No, no, no! Not again! Not ever! No!”

Then he froze.

“Really?” He gasped slowly. “Really?”

He swallowed hard.

“Okay, fine you bastard.” He said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Yes. But you’d better hold up your end this time, Michael. I can’t—“

Then the light descended on him.

Ava cried out, covering her head with her arms, expecting…well, Ava was not entirely sure what she was expecting, but that light couldn’t have been good under even the best of circumstances.

But nothing happened. It just got bright beyond the protective shield of her eyelids and then nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, Ava peeked through her eyelashes and arms out. The boy was sitting up, like someone had replaced his spine with a metal spike, and looking around slowly.

“Um…” Ava slowly lowered her arms, staring at him. “Look, I’ve seen some crazy things before but that? That was pretty high on the list of crazy things.”

The boy turned to her suddenly and Ava was quickly regretting saying anything. His gaze wasn’t vacant anymore, it was so focused and so sharp it could have cut her if she wasn’t careful enough.

“He cannot speak with you while you are like this.” The boy said, only he didn’t sound like he had just a few minutes ago. Like everything was exactly the same about him outwardly, but inwardly, he was an entirely different person, monster, _thing_ than he had been before. Only, he still wasn’t making any sense. “You must sleep.”

“Haha, yeah right.” Ava’s laugh came more like a punch to the gut. “Like I’m going to be able to sleep after—“

The boy touched two fingers to her forehead and before she even knew what was happening, Ava had fallen back to the ground, out like a lamp and snoring.

*********************

Ava woke up in her living room nook. She had a book in her hands and a blanket across her lap and there was a cup of hot cocoa on the shelf besides her, marshmallows bobbing and steam rising from the mug.

She set the book down and slowly cast her gaze around. The house was lit and warm inside but when she glanced out the darkened window, snow drifted down from the sky and puddled white on the windowsill.

The smells of dinner wafted in from the kitchen and Ava could hear the sounds of Brady pattering around in there and for a moment, Ava can pretend that maybe, just _maybe_ , all of the crap she went through—the town, the visions, fucking Hell—was all some sort of terrible, bad-horror-novel fueled dream.

But then, everything seemed too perfect. Too dreamy. It was the kind of Picture Perfect that was only created by careful staging and copious amounts of make up and photoshop.

“It is rather awful, isn’t it?”

Ava tried not to jump at the sudden sound of a voice besides her but she was still fresh out of Hell and jumping at things in dark spaces was a reflex.

The man sitting besides her didn’t look like a demon though, and he didn’t look like a drooling lunatic, so already that was a plus. He had short, sandy hair and was slightly scruffy, but other than that, he looked fairly harmless.

“My brother,” he gestured to the scene as if that explained everything, “has no sense of taste.”

Ava shifted a little. “It is pretty Christmas card kitsch.” She admitted, not quite sure what else to do than talk to the strange man in the strange fake-home. “So, who are you?”

Subtle. Real subtle.

But he didn’t seem thrown off at all, he just simply inclined his head. “My name is Lucifer.”

“Oh.” Ava swallowed hard. “Hello, Satan.”

Lucifer heaved a heavy sigh, like someone hearing the same joke that wasn’t that funny to begin with repeated for eternity would.

“If this is a quality control survey, I have to say Hell’s abstract torture is not really doing it for me. I’d give it a 2.” Ava said, adjusting the blanket. “Yknow, mostly just uncomfortable and weird.”

Now it was Satan’s turn to look slightly confused. “What?”

“This is Hell, right?” Ava asked, feeling a nervous laugh jump up in her throat before she could stop it. “The whole wasteland and now this? I mean, some weird, distracted, artistic abstraction of Hell, but it’s Hell. I mean, you’re here and everything.”

“Oh.” Lucifer leaned back. “No, no. This isn’t Hell. You are on earth. This is a dream constructed by Michael so that I could speak with you.”

“Oh, okay.” Like that made all the sense in the world. Ava deserved a medal for not freaking out about all this madness. Or a pat on the back. Either one would do at this point.

“I need something from you, Ava.” Lucifer said, calmly, leaning towards her.

“Uh…” Ava stared at him because really, what ever the _Devil_ need from her of all people was beyond her.

“Did you ever wonder why you were chosen by Azazel? Why you were so special?”

Ava had been asking herself that question. All the time. In every scream and breath and cry and shaking silence. _Whywhywhywhywhy._

“I am an Angel,” Lucifer continued, “I cannot walk on the earth unless I possess a vessel. I cannot possess just anybody either, it must be someone from a very specific line, someone who is strong and capable of containing me. All of the children Azazel gathered, all of the men and women you met in that town, all of them could have been my vessel. Azazel was preparing you for me.”

“You…want to possess my…vessel?” Ava asked slowly, not really believing it anymore saying it than she did listening to it.

“Yes,” Lucifer said gently.

Okay, so this is where the panic should be setting in. Because the Devil—fucking Satan—wants inside her so that he can walk the earth and…and do what? End it? She was raised back to earth out of hell to end it? What sense does that make?

“But…I wasn’t…” Ava gaped at him. “I died. Sam or Jake are the ones you want.”

A wry smile crept across his gentle features. “Sam was my true vessel, that is correct. But I cannot take a vessel without their consent and Sam will not say yes twice, no matter what I do.” He sighed heavily, and Ava actually laid her hand on his arm. She was actually comforting Satan. What the hell.

 He turned to her as if he read her mind and laid his hand on hers and smiled slightly. He certainly _felt_ real, even if this was a dream. “All I need is for you to say yes, Ava. That is all.” Lucifer pressed gently. “It won’t hurt, it will be fine. I’ll put you in a dream, if you wish, and I promise I have much better taste than my brother.”

“And what if I say no?” Ava’s breath caught in her throat.  

“That is your choice.” Lucifer said calmly, softly. “You always have a choice. But in my experience, you human’s always choose the path that leads towards me.”

“Why’s that?” She asked, numbly.

“Because you know that I am right.”

If Ava weren’t in the middle of poor-little-Satan and holy-crap-Satan-wants-my-body modes, she probably would have recognized how narcissistic that comment was. Instead she just nodded.

But what did come through for Ava was what Michael—or whatever the name of the poor bastard Michael was possessing—had told her. _Don’t give your body for free: Always ask for conditions._

“Can I have some conditions?” She asked and Lucifer went very still and for a moment, Ava panicked because oh crap, she just pissed off the Devil.

“What are your conditions?” He asked finally.

“Um.” Ava wracked her mind quickly. “Could we possibly tag-team this out? I’ve uh. I just got brought back to life yknow? I’d like to enjoy some time…not being dead.”

He still wasn’t moving but he didn’t make to stop her so she barreled on ahead.

"And you gotta treat my body right. You may be able to possess multiple bodies but me? I’m stuck with one and I like it the way it is, thank you very much. No growing horns or goat hooves or anything.”

"I don't have any of those things.” Lucifer did not look amused.

"Oh. Okay, good. Don’t go getting any.”

"Is that it?"

"And..." Ava wracked her mind. "And I get to choose our outfit for the apocalypse."

Lucifer laughed. It wasn’t very hearty but it was honest. So not only did Ava try to comfort him but she also made Devil laugh. She was still uncertain about whether that was a good thing or not. ”Alright, I’ll accept your terms." He said.

“Good.” Ava nodded rhythmically. He looked at her for a long moment and she realized that this was her cue. Ava took one last deep gulp of breath, looking around the kitschiest version of her home she had ever seen and then straightened up, looking the devil in the eye. “Good. Then….yes. I give you permission to use my vessel."

*********************

Cultic behavior is not uncommon in both Angels and Demons.

For all of Heaven’s Angels, prior to the last few years, the veneration and worship had been devoted entirely to their Father, God. It could hardly count as a cult, really, as much as it was seen as a requirement of Angelhood. That is, until it all changed.

Once Michael was gone, what most of the Angel’s had believed in was completely shattered. Father’s infallible plan had somehow gone wrong. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

In the chaos, Angel’s began throwing themselves at anything they could believe in. Many clung to the old order, many threw themselves behind the rebel Castiel. Anything they could find. Attempting to find a semblance of order and meaning in their lives again.

Demonic Cults had always been plenty and shattered, since Lucifer’s imprisonment.

Hell was not stable, by definition, and even Lucifer could not command a completely loyal following among his flock. But if Demon’s were one thing, it was selfish, so the majority of Demon’s were more than happy to play kiss-ass to whatever dominating power reigned.

Of course, there were those Demon’s who had pesky feelings of loyalty. Loyalty deeply buried, of course, but loyalty to a cause. To a belief. To a leader.

When you set aside the differences and politics, Angels and Demons are really after the same thing in the end.

*********************

A Demon and an Angel walked into a bar.

There had been a tense, drawn out moment where the two unearthly enemies stared each other down. The moment stretched to a minute or two and then finally the Demon cleared his throat.

“You want to like, fight or something? ‘Cause I could really use a drink before we start.” He said.

The Angel stared.

“You look like you could use one.” The Demon prompted.

“Okay.” The Angel said and crossed over to the bar and sat down on one of the footstools, stiffly. All the movements were mechanical and not quite right, mostly because the Angel had never occupied a human host and couldn’t quite get the hang of moving a physical body yet.

The Demon slid into the seat next to the Angel and motion the bartender to bring them two drinks and when they arrived, he downed his while the Angel sniffed it them reluctantly drank it down.

An hour later, they were passing back and forth the last bottle of liquor in the bar, both on the verge of being truly hammered. The humans who had previously populated the bar were nowhere to be seen, more deserted than a ghost town. Those at least had ghosts.

“Must’ve sucked,” the Demon said, after taking a swig of the alcohol—whiskey? Brandy? It all was beginning to taste the same to him—and passing it back to the Angel, “Falling I mean.”

“It was terrible,” The Angel agreed, wiping the top of the bottle. “But it’s not exactly like things were exactly happy-pappy recently. Heaven’s been a mess and this is just another event on the long string of tragic events that’s followed the failure of the Apocalypse, proper.” He then took a long hit of the liquor that was more than his share and then passed the bottle back.

“I hear you,” the Demon said, after a long pause to sort through all the large words because, of course Angels would be pompous even when drunk. “Hell hasn’t exactly fared any better.”

“At least you have a king.” The Angel pointed out.

“Who I never voted for and who is missing in action while that pompous Knight of Hell is now claiming _she’s_ the devil-given leader of Hell.”

The Angel didn’t exactly nod sympathetically, but he didn’t nod unsympathetically either. He just nodded rhythmically, really.

“You know, it was much better when Lucifer was up and running the show for us.” The Demon muttered against the lid. “At least then we had purpose.”

The Angel nodded again. “Heaven could benefit from Michael’s return.” He agreed.

“And this whole goddamn rock could do with a good old fashioned apocalypse, if you ask me.” The Demon said, gesturing. “But look at me, preaching to the goddamn choir. You people were the first to jump aboard the end of the world boat, that’s for sure.”

The Angel was silent for a long moment, staring at a spot across the bar without really seeing it. The Demon took his companions long silence as incentive to take a double shot and then frowned at the nearly empty bottle.

“What would you say,” the Angel said finally, slowly, “if I told you we knew a way to free Lucifer and Michael from the Cage?”

“I’d say it's bloody impossible.” The Demon snorted. “Do you have any idea how long it took the spring Him the first time? And that was under one fucking leader who knew what the hell he was doing.”

“It is not as impossible as you think it is.” The Angel said, still with that vacant determination. “It may be possible for the Cage to be opened if the forces of Heaven and Hell were to work together to do it.”

“No shit.” 

“Indeed.”

“So you mean you and I could go and just….Blow the cage open wide?”

“We would need more than just one angel and one demon, but technically yes.” 

“Well…shit.” The Demon sat back. “I think I need to sober up before I start thinking this is an actual good idea.”

“Allow me.” Said the much steadier angel, touching two fingers to the Demon’s forehead before he had a chance to flinch back. The Demon hissed momentarily as the alcohol left his veins and then swatted at the Angel’s hand. “

Don’t do that, Angel!” He snapped. “Your smite-me touch is the same as your cure-me touch and it’s creepy as Hell.”

“My Apologies.”

The Demon settled back down, frowning deeply. They lapsed into silence, the Angel staring at the point he had focused on before and the Demon staring at a spot on the wood between them. Finally the Demon let out a long, slow breath. “Okay, Angel. Why is it that your idea _still_ sounds like a pretty damn good one?”

“Possibly because for two front-line nobodies like you and I, having a clear leader to follow is better than wallowing around in anarchy and disorder.”

“Yeah, okay, you don’t make any more sense sober, either.” The Demon muttered. “You said we would need more than just us? How many exactly?”

The Angel paused a moment, calculating. “Eight. One angel and one demon for every being we wish to draw out from the Cage. Lucifer, Michael and their respective vessels.”

“Ah, ah.” The Demon wagged a finger at his companion. “Didn’t you get the news flash? Sam Winchester’s been out of the cage for ages.”

The Angel frowned. “That is…problematic.” He said, which was probably one major fucking understatement. “Lucifer requires a vessel, and his pool of vessels are quite small. I would not be surprised if Sam Winchester was the only remaining one alive.”

“Alive, maybe.” The Demon said, inclining his head slightly. “But Azazel wasn’t putting all his chips in one bucket for no reason. His special kids were always meant to house the big guy, weren’t they? We’ve got a few of them on the rack that we could spare.”

“Then we will only need a total of six angels and six demons to complete the spell.”   

The Demon snorted, picking up two shot glasses from where they had been knocked over, setting them up and pouring the last of the liquor into them. “How fitting.” 

“It is a sign.” He agreed. “Can you find five other Demons willing to participate in the ritual?”

“Leave it to me, friend.” He held out one of the shots to the angel, who took it. “Just think, soon we might have some fucking order in this world, for once.”

“Or it’s destruction and our total annihilation.”

“Win-win situation, no matter how you look at it.”

The glasses clinking together rang as clear as church bells in the empty bar.

*********************

One of the first revelations that came to Lucifer in the Cage was that nothing was truly eternal. Nothing. Not Angels, not Heaven, not God, and certainly not this prison.

He had been right about that too. All of those points. Angels died, heaven had abandoned him, God disappeared and he was released from the prison. Of course, not for as long as he had hoped ( _eternity_ would just be too coated in irony, so let’s just go with for a very, very long time), but that’s what happens.

The Cage is unpleasant, under the best of circumstances, and after being thrown in there with your brother slash immortal enemy, it was not anywhere close to a bucket of roses. That is to be expected.

What was not expected was being freed after only a few years. Earth time, of course.  

That wasn’t even enough time for the humans who got them in there to get old and die, let alone for Heaven to get its act together to free them.

So yeah, Lucifer was really surprised.

*********************

Lucifer stood up, testing the fingers of his new vessel and stretching. She was stronger than Nick had been, not quite the perfect fit that Sam had been, but good enough. It was the difference between store-bought and tailor-made. They would both do, but the fit was all different.

Michael was also standing, looking around with a frown knitting his brow. Lucifer looked at him, curious. There were many things Michael was, but rarely did he seem this disturbed. In fact, Lucifer could only recall one time where Michael had looked more distraught, and was almost exclusively related to the Morningstar.

“Get dressed.” Michael said shortly, breaking the silence.

“Uh?” Lucifer looked down at his new body, inspecting it from all angles. “Why?”

“There are six Angels and six Demons over there.” Michael’s frown continued unbroken, and he inclined his head. Lucifer turned that way and breathed and indeed he could feel it, the hum of grace, the burn of sulfur. But he wasn’t feeling cooperative.

“Oh, sorry, let me just shed this mortal form and burn out every single member of my forces by showing them my true visage.” Lucifer gestured. “I look fabulous.”

“You are naked.”

“And fabulous.” 

Michael gave Lucifer a very pointed stare and Lucifer sighed.  

“Fine.” He said with a shrug and was suddenly wearing an outfit very similar to the one his vessel wore before she died. “But I don’t have to like it.”

“Must you be so unprofessional?”

“Oh? Professionalism is what your worried about now, is it?”

“If you wish to make a mockery of yourself, then by all means do not let me stop you.” Michael said, voice monotone and unchanging in tone from what it was before, but the the air actually crackled with the tension between the two figures. “I had always thought Pride was your greatest Sin, but maybe I overestimated your ability.”

“Pride? You wish to talk about pride now, brother?” Lucifer asked. This argument had all the rings of an old one, one that had been held so many times it could’ve been scripted. But neither of them made a move to strike the other, or even to move at all, simply glaring each other down, the air charged with enough static to shock a person.

“I do not wish to talk to you, at all.”

Lucifer jutted his chin upwards, and Michael squared his shoulders and they fell completely silent, glaring and hostile. Their wings fully extended, flaring up at each other, causing the air to ripple and crack around them, lightening splitting the sky and slamming back together in thunder.

The tentative onlookers, creeping forward, did nothing to dispel the tension. The Angels and the Demons were looking at Lucifer and Michael, looking at each other. And waiting.

They had fallen into a thick and heavy silence that nobody wanted to break, a stillness that nobody wanted to disturb. Just still, silent, waiting. And growing more uncomfortable and uneasy by the second.

Finally one of the demons broke the silence, because Demon’s are, by their nature, impatient and loud.

“Aren’t you going to fight, or something?” The Demon asked.

If Michael or Lucifer were humans, they may have jumped. But they were only wearing humans, so they turned slowly to look at the Demon and immediately it was regretting having ever had a mouth to speak with.

But something beyond the Demon caught Michael’s eye at least. He stared at one of the gathered Angels and he tilted his slightly as he did.

There were many things Michael had noticed since his sudden release from the Cage: the fact that he had been freed being number one. The Chorus of Heaven was all wrong too, the Angel’s voices were of chaos and fear and pain. Then there was the matter of the Grace of the gathered Angels, shattered and _wrong_ in a way that would almost suggest that they had Fallen.

But what stood out most to him at that moment was that the Angel, Tamael, was a gardener and should not be there. Then he cast his eyes to the other Angels. None of them, save for Raniel and Isaiah were soldiers, and should not be on Earth. Nathan was a guard, Daniel worked in accounting and Ariel was Rit Zien, a healer.

“What are you all doing on Earth?” Michael asked, taking in each of the Angels carefully. “Did Raphael send you here?”

They shifted uncomfortably and Michael looked automatically to the soldiers. Isaiah was the one who spoke finally. “Much has happened, since…” His eyes flickered away from Michael momentarily to the decimated field around them, then returned to the Archangel. “Since you were last here.”

As if he could not tell that already. “Who sent you to free me?”

“Nobody, Michael.” Isaiah admitted, eyes flicking down. “I gathered them, but we came on our own orders.”

“Your own orders?”

Dumbfounded may have been too weak of a word for the precise feeling coursing through both the Archangels. Angel’s don’t work on their own orders. At least, the average one doesn’t. Angel’s don’t have _will_ , or at least not the freedom to decide their will in that way. It was so wrong, Michael felt almost confused.

Isaiah nodded.

“Where is Raphael?” Michael asked. He needed to see his younger brother, he needed Raphael to explain to him exactly what had happened. What was happening.

The Angels shifted uncomfortably and dropped their gazes.

“Isaiah. Where is Raphael?”

Slowly the soldier raised his eyes back to Michael. “Dead.” He said. “Raphael is dead.”

“Dead?!” Lucifer cried suddenly, to the surprise of everyone but Michael. “How?! Tell me, now!”

Isaiah and all the other Angels (and for that matter, the Demons), bristled uncomfortably, glancing at each other nervously.

“What happened, tell me everything.” Michael demanded.

“After you were trapped in the Cage, Raphael took over Heaven in your place.” Good. That was right, that was proper. “He wished to free you and Lucifer, in accordance to the Plan.” That was also right. Raphael would never have let his brothers rot and leave him alone. Raphael wanted the End more than any of them. “But…There was a rebellion. A civil war, lead by the blasphemer, Castiel. It was he who slew Raphael.” Isaiah finished, his eyes down.

There were no emotions to be read on the face of his vessel, or in the hum of his Grace. Michael’s wings didn’t even twitch. But he did not speak.

“Castiel?” Lucifer’s voice was almost calm. “I killed him.”

“He claimed it was God that brought him back,” Raniel bit out, refusing to look at Lucifer, or at any of them, really. “I followed him, at first. I would have still if not for…”

“What did Castiel do?” Lucifer demanded. “Castiel was only a soldier, Raphael an Archangel. He couldn’t have possibly laid a hand on Raphael the way he was.”

“He…” Isaiah started, eyes flicking over to Lucifer then to Michael. “He opened Purgatory. Swallowed all the souls inside. He called himself the new God.”

“It was terrible.” Tamael whispered, her little form shaking. “I—“

“Calm yourself, sister.” Michael ordered, but there was more. He knew there was more. A weaker Angel may have wept. He turned his gaze to Isaiah, whose sad eyes were turned to Tamael. Isaiah looked back to the Archangel.

“He slaughtered so many of us. He released the Leviathan, and then he disappeared.” Isaiah continued. “Until he reappeared with Metatron and together they—“

“Cast the Angels out of Heaven.” Nathan, an otherwise silent Angel finished.

The whistle left Lucifer’s lips almost unbidden, but could you really blame him? In less time than it would take for Michael to scratch his own celestial backside in Heaven, Castiel had turned Heaven completely on its head and then sealed it shut for good measure.

Lucifer couldn’t help but be impressed. Sure, he had seen the sparks of rebellion in his younger brother; had felt the sorrow deep in his heart that Castiel had chosen to stand against him, taken his own sides, but Lucifer couldn’t have imagined _this_. He never would have guessed that any of this could have happened.

“We worked with these abominations to free you.” Tamael pointed a shaking finger at the Demons. “To end this.”

The Demons snarled at her but the angels—all of the angels—were rather unruffled by the comment. It was logical, of course, that a group of Angels and Demons working together would have been able to unlock the Cage. But it had been thought to be so preposterous that they would have before that it was never really taken into consideration.

But things were desperate. Michael had only been on earth for less than a half hour and already he knew things were incredibly desperate.

“Metatron…” Michael murmured more to himself than anybody else, closing his eyes. “I should have known.”

“There must have been a spell in the Word. Something God created and that Metatron must’ve memorized.” Lucifer said, thoughtfully. “Unless the scribe can read the tablets, but I certainly couldn’t. It wasn’t made for Angels to read.”

Michael looked at the other Archangel and then back to the other Angels.

Michael knew he had a duty to his brothers, as he always had. He was the last Archangel left who still truly deserved that title, and the only natural leader aside from God that Heaven has ever had. For all the thousands of years since Father had left them, Michael had kept Heaven and his family together. It had been hard— _Impossible_ as Raphael had once said, but Michael had done it.

And if anyone other than God were to fix Heaven, restore the Angels to their proper places and orders, it was Michael.

Herein lay the problem.

That was not Michael’s destiny. Michael was destined to lead them, not pick up the pieces. He had done that before. Michael was meant to either lead Heaven in victory or into its defeat (Victory had never been a doubt in Michael’s mind, but Raphael was more of a realist; he knew nothing was guaranteed except for the inevitability of it taking place) and Michael was meant to fulfill the duty given to him by his Father (to cast out his brother, to slaughter him. Michael had failed that before.)

Michael’s duty was to Heaven and Father. Michael’s destiny stood across from him.

“I must attend to Heaven.” Michael announced, suddenly.

Lucifer’s head snapped up and towards Michael but the Archangel had turned away and with a flap of his powerful wings, he and all the other angels were gone.

Lucifer stood there, mouth half-opened in mid protest. Then he turned to the Demon’s, eyes wide.

“Did he just….” Lucifer turned back to the spot where his brother had been. “Are you kidding me?! He just left!”

The Demons, wisely, remained silent.

“Who was it who was always going on about our destiny, here?!” Lucifer snarled. “You cowardly little bitch, get back here and fulfill your fucking destiny!”

Nothing made a noise or sound and Lucifer stared into the air for a moment more before straightening up, containing the rage that had burned through. He just stood, his eyes closed and breathed, letting the silence seep in.

“Father?” One of the Demon’s piped up finally.

Lucifer opened his eyes and turned to the Demon’s, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “My children,” he said, holding out his arms. “Daddy’s home.”


	4. Wherein the Lost are Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back Rubs and Unresolved Hug Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Something Happens in Detroit, Canon Typical Revolving Door Of Death, Soccer Moms, Poorly Understood Physics, Injury, Dumb Idiots in Stupid Love and Enough Emotional Schmoop To Drown A Cat

Dean looked around the empty landscape, and sighed.

Since he had heard about an explosion right over the door to Lucifer’s cage, he spent the entire time on edge. He wasn’t entirely certain what he was expecting when he arrived—destruction, disaster, demons running wild, something or anything. But Ilchester was quiet and, despite the massive earthquake, rather untouched.

The convent had never been rebuilt after its destruction, and since it was far enough outside of town, nobody really had any interest in coming back to it at all. They had simply let the wilderness continue to reclaim the land.

The first explosion had been called a natural gas leak. The second one was being chocked up to the same circumstances. It had happened right at the time of the earthquake and there hadn’t been anyone nearby enough to see anything. All reports were from afar. Nobody was hurt, nothing was damaged, so people just shrugged and moved along.

There wasn’t even caution tape around the site.

Dean knelt to the ground. He had been here before, at the altar. When Lilith was killed and Lucifer released.

The landscape was too peaceful for the evil it held.

He tried to brush aside the sticks and pinecones and debris from the stone floor that somehow, had survived, when he noticed the yellow powder clinging to everything.  

He rubbed it between his fingers, bringing it up to his nose and sniffing.

Dean made a face, dropping his hand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, calling Sam while still crouched on the ground. Sam answered on the second ring.

“Dean? What’s up?”

“I found sulfur, and that’s about it.” Dean said. “but honestly, after what went down here, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was sulfur scattered all over Ilchester from here into eternity. It might not’ve been anything.”

“I…I guess, yeah.” Sam said, but even over the phone, he didn’t sound convinced.

“So how’s the quest for Cas coming?”

Sam sighed, frustrated. “Terribly. He didn’t stay at any shelters in the area I’ve been checking homeless camps but no one has heard of him.”

“Yeah, well…keep looking okay?” Dean said, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “I’ll just look around here a little bit more just to be sure, then I’ll be headed right back to help you.”

“Alright, bye.” Sam said, shortly before hanging up the phone. Dean sighed then put his phone back into his jacket and stood up, joints groaning in protest.

Dean was glad Sam wasn’t here, at least.

*********************

The rain hadn’t let up in Detroit.

Sam hoped that meant that Cas’ traveling plans would be further delayed, but he couldn’t bring himself to be thankful for the rain. Mainly because he had to wander around the cold and wet streets looking for him.

After getting the call from Dean, Sam decided it was time to get inside and eat something warm in his stomach, even if it was only a cup of coffee.

The Coffee shop he found was somewhat full, so once Sam finished ordering, he ended up having to stand by the window, gazing out onto the gloomy streets and wait for his drink to be called.

There were a few brave individuals walking in the rain, umbrellas and collars up against the rain. Only a few cars or trucks passed by, like most of the world would rather be inside than braving the grey day even in a car.

Sam was worried, of course. At least they knew Cas wasn’t dead as of Indiana, but that still put them a long way from finding him or knowing he was truly safe. They didn’t even really know if Cas had made it to Detroit or had simply gotten off somewhere along the way.

But Sam had already thought about this all before. He’d been thinking of all the many situations that could happen so much that he was starting to go in circles. Sam had been hallucinating Cas into every tan trench coat he passed. Every man with dark hair could be his Angel, if he wasn’t looking close enough.

The coffee was a really good idea.

Sam pressed his forehead against the cold glass and watched as a bedraggled man walked past the coffee shop, shoulders hunched against the rain and wind and cold. The red sweatshirt was doing very little to protect him from the rain and the man looked more like a drenched cat than anything else.

Sam really needed that coffee, because the man looked exactly like Castiel.

Another stranger passed the man and he glanced up, for the first time his face was visible from the window and Sam gasped. Either he had lost it completely or that man really was…

“Cas!”

Sam began pushing his way to the door and burst out onto the cold and rainy street, the door swinging behind him, drink abandoned. He had made it to the end of the street and was waiting for the light to change to cross the street.

“Castiel!” He called out again, because of course, Cas couldn’t have heard him from behind the coffee shop window. “Hey Cas!”

He froze, mid step and slowly raised his head and turned, looking down the street. It was undeniably Cas, even without his trench coat and suit and blue tie. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles even when wet and he was scruffy and unwashed but from afar, otherwise unharmed. His blue eyes met Sam’s and for a moment, he looked like he was about to burst into tears or into a smile, which ever one happened first.

Then he turned and ran out into the street.

Sam didn’t even have time to cry out before the blaring of a horn and screech of tires drowned him out, the terrible sound of a human body breaking against the hood of a car. Sam was running after him before Cas even hit the ground.

*********************

There are many little details you don’t think about when faced with an event such as this.

You don’t think that Olivia Grant was going a full 20 miles over the speed limit because she was held back at work and little Morgan’s soccer practice would have finished a full half-hour ago. You don’t understand that she bought the silver SUV she was driving because it had been praised for its safety features and storage space.

You don’t comprehend the physics at play, the kinetic energy of a moving object is equal to one half the mass of that object multiplied by the velocity of the object squared. You don’t remember that the formula for calculating kinetic energy is Ek=1/2mv2, and that about 100 joules of energy is considered the average minimum needed to injure the human body.

You don’t really even think about what it is that has done it; the blunt force trauma, or the broken bones and shattered ribcage, or maybe it was when his head smacked against the asphalt that did it. You don't think about the kinds of things you’ve seen the human body succumb to, or how many times you’ve watched these kinds of scenarios play out.

You don’t even really think your friend is dead until you are holding him in your arms.

*********************

Ezekiel didn’t make a point of listening in on Sam Winchester’s life.

He understood that the consent he received from Sam was shaky at best, and that since Sam had consented via coercion, Sam could reject the Angel at any moment if he were to become aware of his presence. So he tried to just keep his head down and heal Sam and stay as hidden as he possibly could.

Of course, Angel’s don’t have the same understanding of personal space and privacy as humans. Ezekiel, however, understood that there were memories or thoughts or dreams that one might not wish poked at or inspected, so in that way, Ezekiel was among the better Angel’s for that position. But he couldn’t help but listen in to Sam’s dreams or thoughts or sometimes even the outside world around them. Sharing the same body, it would be impossible not to.

But Ezekiel tried not to make a habit of it.

He wasn’t trying to listen in to Sam’s thoughts when they became a flood of emotions and panic. Ezekiel had been so jarred from it, from the suddenness of it all too, that he couldn’t help but allow himself to shift his attention up and attempt to quell the storm.

Human emotion’s are chaos more often than not, and Ezekiel felt like a leaf caught in the hurricane before he could even find a cause or root.

Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas.

Castiel.

Ezekiel could peer through Sam’s eyes and see the man in Sam’s arms. He knew from Sam’s mind and memories that this man was Castiel, or at least, Castiel’s vessel. There were a lot of other things Ezekiel could tell from just a glance, like how the cut on his arm had been caused by a blade and had the barest beginnings of an infection. Like how he knew all of the broken bones in Castiel’s body, the severely bruised lung, the internal bleeding, the concussion and the dislocated shoulder.

Like how he knew that Castiel was dead.

For a moment, Ezekiel was happy for Castiel. Death was peace, after all, for Angels. The end of everything, suffering and sorrow and pain all alike. Because now, Castiel was truly free from the prosecution of their brothers.

But then Ezekiel was awash in the sorrow of his Vessel. How strange, Ezekiel thought, that humans seem to wish to deny what is happening before them. Wasn’t he here because Dean had fought so hard against the fate of his brother?

So Ezekiel decided that for Dean and Sam’s sake, maybe Castiel deserved a better end, another chance. He took control of Sam, touching his fingers to Castiel’s forehead, healing what he could before collapsing in in exhaustion as he relinquished control again to Sam.

*********************

Cas woke up with a sharp intake of breath like coming up for air. At first, all he could see was white and then slowly his eyes were able to pick out the shapes and shadows of clouds, the tops of buildings.

He moved his head slightly, and the ache that followed the movement prompted him to lay still and breath until he could assess the damage.

He wasn’t quite sure where he was, but he could see asphalt and there was a set of jean-and-boot clad legs in his vision, and he could feel the cold and wet seeping into him from his back and falling down on his cheek. There were sounds all around him, but they moved in and out of focus and he couldn’t pick out much of what was being said.

Cas decided to risk raising his head just a little to see around him better, and when he did he was staring up at a car and slowly, little bits and pieces of fragmented memories clicked into place. He had run out into the street. He had been struck by something—the car. He had been running from…

Suddenly Cas forgot the fact that he was trying to lay still and sat up quickly, just as Sam stumbled forward.

“Cas!” Sam cried, reaching out and grasping Cas by the shoulders. “Cas, oh my god.”

“Sam…?” Cas groaned, wincing slightly.

Sam had his hands over Cas’ chest, checking for injuries, for broken ribs or anything and was astonished to find nothing. He would have pretty nasty bruising, but he was, shockingly, alright. Sam met Cas’ eyes and Cas broke under the concern and love and worry he found there. The flight left him and Cas couldn’t find the will to even look away, let alone move back. This, Castiel was beginning to understand, was the humanity at last overtaking him.

“You’re okay…” Sam breathed and Cas nodded. “I thought for a moment there…”

“Oh my god Mister, are you alright?!” A female voice broke through the moment and Cas and Sam both turned to look at the anxious woman standing near them, as somebody else called out, “Somebody call an ambulance!”

“I’m fine.” Cas said, still slightly astonished at the fact.

There was a bit of a crowd forming, so Sam helped to pull Cas to his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, wincing as he moved but he found his balance and they did their best to slip away—as difficult as it was. However, once they were far enough away from the crowd and curious eyes, Sam clasped a hand to Cas’ arm, looking him over again, eyes concerned.

“You ran.” Sam said, his tone flat, somehow accusing.

“I had to run, Sam.” Castiel said, shifting uncomfortably. “There were Angels after me…tracking me. I would have lead them right to you and Dean.”

“The Bunker is warded, Cas.” Sam pointed out. “It’s probably the safest place on earth.”

“I couldn’t endanger you—“

“What about you, huh? You nearly died!”

“You shouldn’t have come after me, Sam.” Cas said, plaintively. After what Castiel had done, he certainly didn’t deserve to be looked for. “Please, it would be better if we just…”

Sam frowned. “Why are you running away?”

“I don’t—“ Cas summoned the frustration and anger from deep in the pit of his stomach and spat out angry words like they were poison. “I don’t need you or Dean to come and find me or save me or anything! I don’t need your protection and I would have thought that I made it obvious that I didn’t want to be found or to return to the Bunker by doing just that!”

Sam, somehow, didn’t rear up at Cas’ anger. In fact he seemed to soften. “You should’ve known we would have come after you, Cas.” He said, “you’re family.”

It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. That was the thing that did it for Castiel, knocked the air out of his lungs. Two words and that was it. Cas didn’t even fully realize what was happening until he was coming completely apart against the cold, wet bricks and Sam’s hand was on his back, steadying him and rubbing little circles.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Sam was saying, his voice a steady, soothing murmur besides him. “It’s okay now,”

Cas pressed his fists so hard against his eyes it ached but he couldn’t stop the shaking or the wetness on his cheeks. Because this was it. Of course, he should have known better. Of course, he should have known better than to expect that Dean, who relentlessly chased him through Purgatory, would have stopped now.

He couldn’t have been prepared for how it hit him when it was laid out so plainly.

Sam kept with him, repeating comforts and keeping his tone low and soft. He instructed Cas to just breath, which Cas obeyed, no matter how labored. Sam kept his hand on his back though, and Cas felt as if that hand was all that was keeping him on his feet and not on the ground. Finally, the tears stopped and Cas lowered his hands from his eyes to paw at his cheeks and continue to draw shaky breath.

“How do you do it?” Cas choked out finally, when he could form words that weren’t just choked noises and sounds dredged up through tight chests and tighter throats. “These emotions—I can’t—“

Sam smiled softly, wisely. “Welcome to being human,” Sam said. “Fun, isn’t it?”

Cas didn’t respond, only cast a weary look at him.

“Lucky you, you’ve got Dean and I to help you out.” Sam gave his back one more startlingly reassuring rub.

Castiel nodded. And he didn’t even think of running away again as Sam steered Cas out of the alleyway and towards the motel.

 

The first order of business was getting Cas warm and clean. Sam banished him to the motel bathroom upon arrival and after that, wrapped him up in his spare flannels and a pair of too large sweat pants as a temporary solution.

Then Sam had to see to the cut on Cas’ arm, which hadn’t healed like Cas had expected it to. He had been very annoyed at it, another woeful reminder on top of woeful reminder of his status as human now.

Sam’s mouth set into a stubborn line and he tutted around Cas the entire time he went about caring for his arm. Castiel toned out most of his lecture on infection because he, of course, knew from the Angelic standpoint how infections worked. He had spoken to several bacterium on multiple occasions, but he knew when to leave well enough alone and let the Winchester have his lecture.

“Where is Dean?” Cas interrupted finally, as Sam was wrapping the bandages in white gauze.

Sam paused and frowned a little. “He’s…He’s in Maryland.” He said, reluctantly. “Checking something out.”

“A case?”

“No.” Sam quickly said, and there was a strange sense of dread in his expression.

“Does it have to do with the earthquake?”

“Yeah. But it’s nothing. We thought maybe some Angels or something…” Sam shook his head and put on a smile. “But Dean checked it out and there was nothing, so it’s all good.”

“Good,” Cas echoed, nodding his head vaguely.

“Hey. You should give Dean a call. Let him know you’re alright.”

Cas shifted uncomfortably. “I think I am the last person he wants to be hearing from…”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sam looked at him, incredulously.

“You should be the one to call Dean.” Cas insisted.

Sam stood up from the bed where they sat, checking the time on the digital clock on the bedside table. Cas leaned back against the headboard, his eyelids feeling surprisingly heavy as he watched Sam clean up the medical supplies. By the time that Sam came out of the bathroom with his phone in his hand, Castiel was close enough to sleep to be jolted by the sudden arrival.

“Call him, seriously.” Sam said, tossing Cas the cellphone. “He was worried sick about you.” 

Cas made a noncommittal noise.

“Or don’t call him. Whatever…” Sam said, easing into casual disinterest. “I’m gonna run out and grab us some food and you’ll need some stuff too, right? Toothbrush, clothes?”

“I have a toothbrush.” Cas shrugged. “But food would be agreeable.”

“Alright.” Sam picked up his coat and keys. “Then I’ll run to the store and be back in…oh, ‘bout an hour.”

“I’ll come with you.” Cas started to stand up, wincing.

“Oh!” Sam quickly walked over to his bag, pulling out a container full of white pills and a bottle of water, handing them to Cas. “Take a few of these, they’ll help with the pain.”

Cas sat back down, expression contrite, but took the pills as instructed, and drank a good portion of the water, while Sam watched him carefully.

“Good. Now, you rest here.” Sam said, firmly.

Cas sighed, giving Sam a half-hearted glower.

“Seeya soon Cas.” Sam said, slipping out the motel room door, locking it behind him.

Cas stared at the door for a long time before looking down at the cellphone. After a long moment of sitting and waiting, Castiel finally punched in Dean’s number and laid down on the bed, phone pressed to his ear as it rang.

Dean picked up after the second ring. “Any luck, Sam?”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas said, keeping his voice even.

There was a moment of silence and Cas could almost hear Dean’s breathing. He closed his eyes, trying to picture what Dean’s face might be right now—furious or disgusted? Happy or annoyed? Luckily, Cas didn’t have too long to wait or else he would have gone mad with the possibilities.

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice thick with relief. “That really you?”

“Yes,” Cas said, only feeling minor confusion that Dean had felt it necessary to ask that sort of question when it was obvious what the answer was. But just hearing Dean’s voice was enough to ease the near-constant ache in Cas’ chest so he didn’t think too much about it.

“Sam found you—Thank…Thank God. You alright?” Dean asked, his voice carefully calculated to try and cover the undercurrent of relief and worry coursing through them.

“I was hit by a car,” Cas reported automatically, “and Sam says it was a miracle I didn’t contract gangrene from a wound on my shoulder which is rather dramatic, but other than that, I am fine.”

“Jesus Cas,” Dean huffed a laugh. “You idiot, yknow I’m gonna kick your ass when I get there and you go and get yourself hit by a car? I can’t fight a cripple yknow.”

“I’m not crippled,” Cas frowned. “Like I said, I am fine.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I really am.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or tense. The exact opposite, actually.

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asked finally.

“Sam left to get some food.” Cas said. “He should return shortly.” 

“Good,” Dean said and Cas could practically hear the smile on his lips. “Great.” 

“Sam told me you were in Maryland, investigating a case?”

“No case here. Just a bunch of empty fields and acts of God—erm, well, the kind of things that happen naturally. No God-squad or Godly activities, that's for sure.”

“That’s good.”

“I miss you.” Cas muttered into the phone quietly and Dean fell silent. “Dean?” Cas asked when he didn't respond, a frown forming on his forehead.

“Yeah.” Dean said after a while, his voice seeming huskier than usual. “Yeah Cas. Same.”

Cas smiled into the pillow.

“You and Sam just sit tight.” Dean continued. “I’ll be there in the morning and then we’ll go back home, okay?"

“Okay Dean.”

“But take it easy okay? Remember to eat and drink and sleep, okay?”

“Okay Dean.”

“Go to bed.”

“Okay Dean.”  

“Goodnight, Cas.” Dean gruffed into the phone.

“Goodnight Dean.” Cas was still smiling when Dean hung up and he set the phone on the table, rolling onto his side and falling asleep.

*********************

Sam took his time at the store. They didn’t really need much—He got Cas a change of clothes and some other basic human necessities. Sam spent a few minutes debating between whether Cas would like the blue or black jacket since he seemed to have misplaced his trademark trench coat since his fall before Sam realized that it was probably a moot point and got them both.

 He knew what he was doing—giving Cas time to call Dean and for them to talk. Maybe even make up. Or at least, so that Dean could know that Cas was okay and would stop worrying about him.

Sam knew it was probably a little bit too much to hope for that Dean and Cas’ conversation would get at any of the rather substantial issues standing between them, but he was still trying to give them as much time as he could for them to theoretically try.

But finally, he found himself walking into the grocery store for dinner items. He didn’t have any idea when Cas had last eaten, or what that had even been, so Sam was determined make sure the newly human Castiel wouldn’t go hungry or malnourished while he was taking care of him.

He was running over his mental grocery list when someone across the lot stilled. He didn’t notice when he was shadowed inside, and it was only until he was in the store that the person finally spoke up, standing at the other end of the aisle.

“Sam.”


	5. Wherein It Truly Is A Small World After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "He" is Biblical and Gender Neutral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Something Happens in Detroit, Narrative Potty Mouth, There is Denial and Panic, and the Devil’s Pronouns Are Discussed.

There is a feeling you get, running into somebody who was once a very important piece of your life after many of years apart. You’ve never really forgotten their face, even if it has been a very, very long time since you’ve even recalled them.

There is also very special feeling you get running into somebody whom you knew to be dead. Whom you helped bury yourself.

The latter is more often experienced by Hunters and other humans who dabble with the supernatural.

*********************

Sam stared at the girl standing on the end of the aisle who had called out his name.

For a moment, she could have been a complete stranger. Her long brown hair hung over her shoulders, and she wore a simple t-shirt, her thumbs tucked into the pockets of her jeans and a smile on her lips.

But she wasn’t a complete stranger. Sam knew her and even if they were in the middle of a grocery store, he had already reached around for his blade, his other hand reaching for the flask of holy water. There were just some things you never left the house without. For a Hunter, those generally included weapons.

“Hello, Sam.” She said, now that he had turned to face her, the easy smile still there. Her expression could even be described as serene, lacking any of the anxiety that it had contained when he first met her.

“Ava.”

“Mm, not quite.”

There was something about her (Ava, the creature wearing Ava’s face,) that was not right. More than just the regular fear when faced with a monster wearing the dead face of someone you knew. This hit Sam bone deep, chilling him to his core.

“Much, much better.” She purred. There was something in her expression, the way she held herself, her presence that froze the Hunter, paralyzing his limbs, hand still gripping his blade and flask. She sauntered a few steps forwards, smile growing wider as the space between them narrowed. “It’s been far too long, Sammy.”

“Don’t move.” Sam bit out, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Don’t you recognize me, Sammy?” She spread out her hands, taking another step.

“No.” His breath created fog when he spoke but he didn’t notice the drop in temperature. Fear was coursing through his veins as his brain caught up with the rest of the picture and then tried to reject it immediately. “No. No, its impossible.”

“Ooh, I wouldn’t say that. I would say that it is very possible.”

“No.” Sam repeated, shaking his head.

“Yes.” She smiled, now close enough that she could touch him and Sam backed up only for his back to meet the glass wall of the freezer. “Come now, Sammy, say my name.”

“Lucifer.” Sam choked out.

“That’s right, Bunk Buddy.” Lucifer smiled. “Did you miss me?”

Then she reached out and touched two fingers to Sam’s forehead and his world went dark.

*********************

The Devil’s preferred pronouns are He/Him, An Enochian word meaning Glorious and Eternal, It, Angel, and the Screams of Terrified Children In the Night.

*********************

Lucifer hadn’t expected to run into Sam Winchester this easily. To be honest, Lucifer hadn’t really expected to run into Sam Winchester again, ever.

He was in Detroit on a whim. He had an apocalypse to start up, after all, but it turns out Lucifer also had a touch of sentimentality to him. Well, a fair bit more than a touch. He had landed in Detroit purely for nostalgia’s sake.

Also because Lucifer’s true vessel was in Detroit, but that was more of an after-thought upon landing in the city than anything else. Mainly because he watched Sam’s backside walking across the pavement, towards the bright florescence of a grocery store.

 _It’s a small world after all_ doesn’t even begin to cover how much of a ridiculous moment in coincidental history this was.

He had followed his vessel into the store eagerly, trailing just far enough behind to not be noticed. At least, not yet. Lucifer wanted to savor every little detail of this moment before wrecking it all. He took in the sway of Sam’s shoulders when he walked, the little dip of his head while he looked at the foodstuffs on the shelves. Lucifer even paid attention to the buzzing lights and the catchy song heavily featuring cowbells and lyrics about blurred lines and ill-defined consent over the stores tinny speakers.

Maybe it was because Lucifer was looking so carefully, or maybe it was because he was a freaking Archangel and not just some stupid human, but something pricked him as _wrong_ about his vessel.

Sam was different, but Lucifer would recognize him anywhere. Lucifer knew that body and that soul inside and out, after all. His hair could be as long as freaking Rapunzel’s and Lucifer would still be able to pick him out of crowd. So that was not it.

No, maybe it had to do with the Angel that was lurking inside of _his_ vessel.

Sure, the angel was buried deep, burrowed deep under Sam’s skin and consciousness, a flicker that could barely even count as an Angel at all, but it was there and it was humming and alive and Lucifer was _pissed_.

At that moment, there was nothing Lucifer wanted more than to kick the arrogant little angel out of Sam Winchester. Because if Lucifer couldn’t even have Sam, nobody else could.

But first thing first, Lucifer needed to make it very clear how fucked both Sam and the Angel inside of Sam were. So he slipped on an easy smile and stood across the narrow aisle from his vessel.

*********************

The Angel was dragged to the surface, initially disoriented and confused. He had been resting so deep inside Sam, he had only just become aware of the fear pumping through his veins. The Angel hadn’t even had a chance to stir or to look into its source when suddenly he was pulled up by a powerful force.

“Hello, Gadreel.” A voice said.

Called by his name for the first time since the Fall, Gadreel (not Ezekiel) stared at the person before him and let out a gasp.

“Lucifer.”

“You look terrible.” Lucifer said, sorrow in his voice. His eyes flickered over the angel, inspecting the plucked and wrecked wings, the torn and scarred grace that was more bits than whole. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You used to be so beautiful.”

Gadreel stiffened, his jaw tightening. His broken and fragile wings twitched painfully, like they wanted desperately to escape, but they were trembling constantly. Be that from their injuries or from Lucifer's presence, he didn’t know.

“Now…” the sorrow was gone from Lucifer’s voice as he stepped forward, meeting Gadreel’s. “That is my vessel you are occupying. Get out.”

Gadreel hesitated only a moment, torn between some sort of suicidal courage and survivalist cowardice, but the terror won over. There wasn’t much he could do. The Angel left Sam in a hurry, leaving the hunter to crumple to the ground.

*********************

Lucifer may have considered smiting Gadreel the moment he was outside of Sam, fleeing or not. But Lucifer was distracted by the state of Sam’s crumpled body on the floor of the grocery store.

 Lucifer knelt down to inspect him and found that…Oh, huh. Sam is dying. That won’t do.

He put his hand on Sam’s head, to heal him. Whatever Sam had done to himself, it was pretty bad. A normal angel would have had to spend weeks healing him from the damage caused to his body. It was magically caused, obviously, and suddenly, Gadreel’s presence in Sam made a lot more sense.

But Lucifer was not an ordinary Angel, so healing Sam was a simple matter.

“What have you been up to since I was gone, Sammy?” Lucifer wondered aloud, brushing a few locks of dark hair aside. Then, he stood up and looked back towards the entrance of the shop where a small collection of Demon’s had gathered. Then looked back down at Sam.

“Come on Sam,” Lucifer smiled, “We’re going on a road trip.”

*********************

Gadreel found his vessel working in a bar and just cried out _please, please, let me in, please again, let me in_ …And his vessel, miraculously, wonderfully, brilliantly, consented.

Once Gadreel was inside his vessel, he panicked in earnest, collapsing against the bar. He put his hands on the bar and felt himself chocking. He stared at the table, unable to breathe and even felt himself growing dizzy.

“You okay?” One of the men at the bar asked.

Gadreel raised his head slowly, looking at the man and nodded dumbly.

He should run. He should run far, far away and hide in the darkest hole he can find and fill it in after him. He should crawl into the nearest parallel dimension he can squeeze his damaged grace inside. He should really run and hide.

Gadreel pushed away from the bar, not even bothering to say anything to the men seated there, walking into the back room, removing the apron his vessel wore and hanging it on its hook. There was a door, there was an escape, there was a chance for Gadreel to make it out of this unscathed.

Gadreel put his hand on the door and froze.

No.

He should not get involved.

Nothing good could ever come from getting entangled with the Morning Star again. Nothing good for him at least. And even though he had practically delivered the poor, helpless Sam into Lucifer’s hands, any reasonable Angel would have done the same thing in his position.

No, Gadreel should absolutely not get involved. He should run and hide and wait out the storm.

Gadreel was now pacing agitatedly in front of the door in the back room, cursing himself and Lucifer and even Dean Winchester for getting him involved in this mess. Somehow, it was probably also Dean’s fault that the safest, most protected hole Gadreel could think of to crawl inside of was the Men of Letters Bunker, where the brothers lived.

If the Bunker really was the safest hole that Gadreel could think of, it wouldn’t exactly be his fault if he also listened in to the goings just in case, right?

Gadreel cursed himself in Enochian as he pushed out of the door, letting his Vessel’s muscle memory take over as he hoped a car and headed off towards Kansas and the Bunker. 


	6. Wherein Lucifer gets the Munchies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't restart the Apocalypse on an empty stomach, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Vaguely Described Gore and Crime Scenes, Dean gets doki doki, poorly described crime scene investigation, Brief Mentions of (Past) Torture, Dean’s potty mouth, Sam’s Potty Mouth, Dean’s Gross Misogynistic language and mentions of past torture.

As Dean pulled into Detroit, he was as close as he had been to a good mood for a very long time. As far as he could tell, there was nothing supernatural happening around Ilchester, and there hadn’t even been a case in the obits he checked that morning. His baby was purring particularly lovely today, the rain was gone from the sky and the traffic was sparse.

Dean was actually singing along to Bon Jovi’s _Living on a Prayer_ by the time he pulled into the motel parking lot, a grin having snuck onto his face without him noticing. He wasn’t exactly hopeful or cheery, because he knew that finding Cas didn’t exactly solve most of their problems, but it made things a little easier. Cas and Sam were safe and they could all go home.

He switched off the car, humming the chorus to himself and walked across the lot to the motel door, fiddling with the key a little before opening the door with his grin still in place.

The room was pitch black, the heavy curtains drawn and the only light coming in was from the open door. Dean squinted into the room, fumbling around for the light switch.

“Sam?”

Years of training and experience with spooky things jumping at him in dark places was probably the only thing that saved Dean from being brained with the motel lamp. Instinct took over and he quickly flipped his assailant to the ground, using the attackers own momentum to bring him down. It wasn’t until Dean had his knee planted firmly on the mans chest, pinning him to the ground did he realize who it was.  

“Cas?!”

“Dean…?” Cas blinked up at him, squinting hard at him.

Dean quickly moved off of him, frowning at him through the half shadows before standing up and flicking on the light switch. “Dude, what the hell?”

Cas grunted, sitting up with a grimace, hand on his chest. “I did not see that it was you, Dean.” He said, as if that was the major problem. “I’m sorry, I should have checked to make sure if you were friendly or not before striking.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, then glanced around the room. From the looks of it, Cas had turned most of the room upside down, using the courtesy paper pad to draw Enochian sigils and placed them strategically all around the room, by the windows and doors and one was even stuck onto the ceiling. The only things that were completely untouched were Sam’s stuff which was probably still in the same state Sam had left it in.

Sam was absent, and Dean was sincerely hoping that his brother hadn’t let Cas go scribble crazy while he was still there, so Sam must have run out to get breakfast or something.

“Where’s Sam gone off to?” Dean asked finally, deciding that of all the questions he could be asking, that one was probably the safest.

Unfortunately, Cas’ expression darkened. “I don’t know.” Cas said, frowning.

“What?”

Cas closed his eyes. “I woke up this morning and I was alone,” he said, slowly. “It would appear he did not return last night but I don’t know, I was sleeping.”

“…You panicked, didn’t you?” Dean asked, biting back his own concern and alarm, looking around the room. It did slightly explain the crazy on the walls.

“The Angel’s—“

“Are after you, yeah I know,” Dean said, cutting off Cas and pulling out his phone and dialing Sam’s. The cell phone on the bedside table began to ring, so Dean canceled and tried calling Sam’s extra phone. They both had at least two cellphones, just in case. You can never be too careful in this job.

The extra number rang and rang and finally switched to voice mail. Dean left a clipped message for Sam to call him back as soon as he got the message and then hung up and looked at Cas. Cas had retreated back towards the center of the room and was picking up a few of the sigil papers, like he was tidying up for the sake of busying his hands.

“Hey…” Dean tried to give Cas a reassuring smile. “You eat yet? I’m starved, let’s get breakfast.”

Cas looked at Dean, eyes wide. “But Dean—“

“Here,” Dean fished out a pair of jeans and his Metallica t-shirt from his bag, tossing it Cas’ way. Cas caught them deftly, still staring at him. “These’ll probably fit you better than what you’ve got on.”

Cas looked down at himself. “Sam lent me these…”

“Yeah, I can tell. You look like a kid who tried on all their parents clothes, you’re swimming in them. Go on, get changed.” Cas cast him one more disconcerted look before obediently trudging into the bathroom to change. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his phone and sending a text message to every number Dean knew Sam had, running through a thousand mental scenarios that could have happened between Sam leaving and him arriving.

He wasn’t going to panic. For Cas’ sake, Dean was not going to panic. Not yet at least. Sam was a big boy after all, and a damn fine hunter. He knew how to take care of himself.

Unless of course, he didn’t. There were more than enough things that went bump in the light that could be after his brothers skin. This is why Dean really cannot leave Sam alone for five seconds.

But Sam wasn’t alone, was he?

Dean glanced towards the bathroom, then closed his eyes. “Hey, Zeke? You got your ears on?” He prayed, keeping his voice as low as he could. “Ezekiel, you send me a goddamn text message or something, or else I’m gonna kick your feathered ass when I find you.”

Dean held his breath for a few moments, waiting for his phone to buzz or ring or something. When Cas came out of the bathroom, Dean was getting ready to send another very angry, very clear and pointed prayer to Ezekiel.

The sight of Cas in his jeans and tee, Sam’s flannel shirt on top momentarily fizzled out Dean’s line of thought, and it took him a long moment to realize that he was staring.

“Uh. Right. Well,” Dean mentally backtracked, trying to regain his line of thought. “Let’s go.”

Cas cast him a slightly weary look as he brushed past Dean towards the door. Dean sent a clipped _Sam had better be alright or so help me_ towards Ezekiel before following Cas out into the parking lot.

 

The diner where Sam and Dean had plotted out their strategy for finding Cas was just down the block from the motel, so they opted to walk, rather than drive. Mainly because Dean was worried about the attention his Baby was getting on the streets, figuring she was much safer parked where she was.

Of course, it also allowed Dean to pray (albeit, silently) to Ezekiel, glancing down at his phone every few seconds and to internally panic. He was distracted enough that he didn’t notice Cas stopping until he had pulled on Dean’s sleeve to get his attention.

“What?” Dean turned quickly to look at Cas, who just silently pointed across the street. Dean followed his finger to the grocery store down the street where a small army of police cars were gathered, lights flashing and the area was taped off while a crowd gathered.

Dean looked back at Cas. “You still got that badge I gave you?”

Cas nodded.

“Great, come on.” Dean strode over to the crowd, muscling his way to the front and flashing the officer his badge as he ducked under the tape. He glanced behind him to make sure Cas was following before striding into the grocery store.

 The store was practically covered in blood, one of the store clerks bodies lay across the check out counter, completely gored. Another one had been hung on a shelf, like a piece of meat. A quick look around the store told Dean that the rest of it was probably just as much of a blood bath as the front.

Dean knelt by the body of what looked like one of the stores customers, frowning. Around her body, what wasn’t absorbed into the pool of her blood was a chunky yellow powder.

“Sulfur.” Cas said, at Dean’s elbow. “Demons.”

“Great,” Dean muttered darkly and added the store’s patrons and employees to the list of people he had gotten killed.

“There is nothing great about this,” Cas frowned.

Before Dean could respond, a harried looking officer walked over to them, a frown on his face. Dean stood up to show the man his fake badge, nudging Cas a little so that he would do the same.

“Agents,” he said, giving them a look over. “I didn’t know the FBI had a casual friday.”

“We were in the neighborhood,” Dean said, then gestured meaningfully. “Figured you might need the big guns for this one. What do you make of this?”

The cop rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “We’re thinking gang activity, but honestly fellas, I haven’t the foggiest notion of what this is really.”

“Gang activity?” Dean looked around, incredulously. “This look like your average gang hit to you?”

“Yeah, well, it’s the only guess we’ve got.” He sighed. “We’ve got the security footage of what we think is the gang that did this. Come and see.” They followed him back to another cop behind a laptop, running the stores security cameras through it. “Dave, show ‘em last night’s footage.”

The second cop, Dave, glanced at Dean and Cas for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure thing,” he said, and then tapped the play button.

“That group there,” he said, pointing to one of the video feedbacks, from the camera pointed at the door, “their probably the best bet we’ve got as to who pulled this off.”

Dean looked up at him, raising his eyebrows and the cop shrugged.

“Told you I haven’t the foggiest.”

The cops weren’t exactly wrong to be incredulous. The video shows a large group of an assortment of individuals gathering at the stores entrance, staring in. But Dean knew that Demon’s weren’t exactly picky about picking their meat suits, and the little old lady was just as dangerous as the body builder besides her.

The video feed cut out shortly after they gathered and Dean looked at the guy named Dave. “That’s it?”

He shrugged. “That’s it. The cameras all just black out at that point, until…” He fast forwarded a little, and when the picture returned, it was on the store, its occupants now slaughtered. “Creepy, huh?”

Dean frowned a little. What was strange was that all these Demons had simply gathered and…what, waited? For what?

“Can you go back?” Cas asked, suddenly and Dean blinked, looking at him. Cas was staring intently at the screen, his expression grim. Cas looked serious enough that Dean’s heart dropped a little. That kind of look was rarely a good sign for them. “Please, to when the demons arrived.”  

“The…What?”

“The people,” Dean said quickly. “Gang, whatever.”

“Uh. Sure.” Dave rewinded the footage and Cas moved closer to the screen, pressing the pause button as he did.

“Sam.” He said, suddenly, pointing to one of the other camera feeds. Dean’s stomach dropped as he stared at the grainy black and white image of what was unmistakably his brother on the screen.

“Fuck.”

*********************

Sam came to on the tile floor of a store that was most definitely not where he had been before. For a moment, he was confused, and when he tried to sit up, found that he was tied up and there was a gag stuffed in his mouth.

Then he caught sight of the woman in the aisle in front of him, holding two boxes of candy and inspecting them both like they were something of great importance.

That is when it all came rushing back to him.

*********************

Dean watched the video again, keeping his eyes on his brother. Sam walking into the store. Some chick following him in. Sam noticing her and drawing his knife. Backing up. She reaches up and touches his forehead and the cameras go blank.

Neither the girl, nor Sam’s bodies were at the crime scene, but Dean wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

“Is that Abaddon?” Cas asked in an undertone, glancing at Dean. Dean shook his head, quickly.

“No. Abaddon had a different meat suit, and she was attached enough to it to resurrect it after Sam torched it, so I’m guessing she wouldn’t ditch it for a new one anytime soon.”

“I’m sorry Dean,” Cas muttered, shifting a little. “I probably brought this down upon you and Sam.”

“Shut up Cas,” Dean gave him a sharp look, frowning. “This is Demon trouble, unless the Angel’s have taken to gathering Demonic posses.”

“These days, it would not be entirely unsurprising.”

“This is not on you, Cas. None of this is. We’ll fix this, got it?”

Cas frowned, but returned his attention to the screen. The girl in the video kept her back to the camera, and there wasn’t exactly a clear shot of her face, but she could have been anyone. And the list of their known enemies was large enough to incorporate entire species of monsters.

Of course, there were other things worrying Dean about the video. If they were all Demons, Ezekiel should have smote them before they did anything to Sam. It would take some serious demonic mojo to stop an Angel, and Dean was fairly certain he knew all the major players who could do that.

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed, leaning back. They were getting nowhere sitting here, that’s for sure.

“I’m going to go check out the rest of the store. See if our mystery lady left us any clues.” Dean said, sounding snappier than he had meant to, but Cas seemed to take the hint because he nodded and let Dean walk off on his own.

*********************

Jeffery Carter was not an exceptional man. In fact, if you were to ask the string of bitter ex-wives that had haunted his ass for most of his life, he was a completely useless, no-good, waste of space. He might have agreed with most of them, at a time, but Jeffery (just Jeff, please) was actually making something of himself this time.

He had saved up enough money and started his own business. Sure, it was a gas station in the middle of nowhere, but people always needed gas and junk food, so he kept good business. Jeff may have even said, if anyone were to ask, that he was proud of his business. And of himself. Because for once, something was looking up in Jeff Carters life.

That is, until Lucifer and His dark army stopped in at his gas station. Because apparently even Satan gets cravings for bad food on the road trip to the Apocalypse.

“What do you think?” Lucifer asked, browsing the the candy aisle. “Twinkies or Cupcakes?”

The bound figure on the floor grunted.

“Sorry?” The Creator of Demons said, snapping his fingers and suddenly the gag was gone from the man’s mouth. “What was that?”

“Go to Hell.” Sam Winchester spat.  

“Been there, done that.” Lucifer said mildly, going back to the pastries before shrugging and putting both the twinkies and cupcakes into the little red basket. “Never been to the one in Michigan though.” Then he picked up another packet of candy, offering it to the struggling hunter. “Twizzlers? Red or black?”

“Fuck you.”

“Black then.”

The flies buzzed through the air, circling the corpse of Jeff Carter eagerly. A few stray flies flitted over to buzz around Sam’s forced prone form or the nervous demons standing guard by the door. A few of the braver ones even landed on the demons and were flicked off with an annoyed hand or burnt to a crisp. Not a single insect even dared to fly around Lucifer.

“Hmm…” Lucifer tapped a finger to his chin as he looked at the basket and then around the store. “Let’s see, what else…What else do we need?”

“How is this even possible?” Sam asked, staring up at him with a mixture of fear and pure hatred. “You were—“

“Back in the Cage, I know.” Lucifer turned to him, expression still mild and serene, although the room temperature seemed to suddenly drop a couple dozen degrees. “I remember. You were in there too. And yet, here we are.” Lucifer paused a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Ah! I know what we are missing.”

“How did you find me?” Sam growled, struggling a little to sit up, propping himself up with his shoulder to try and follow the Archangel as he walked over to the buzzing fridge in the back, pulling out a six pack of beer.

“I don’t know, really.” Lucifer said. “I was literally in Detroit on a whim, for old times sake.”

Sam made a noise that was somewhere between a groan of pain and a bitter laugh. Only his life would suck so much that he would literally bump into the Devil on the streets by complete coincidence.

“I would like to think it was Fate that brought us together.” Lucifer said, adding it to the basket. “Sorry about the binds by the way. I do not imagine they are very comfortable. But the demon’s didn’t trust that you wouldn’t try to run or put up a fuss.” There was something about the way the Devil spoke, or the way he carried himself, even in another vessel, that made it seem so sincere that you almost could believe him.

But Sam knew better. He knew much better.  

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sam said finally, pressing his forehead against the tiles, giving up his attempt to sit up.

“It’s almost like we were meant for each other, Sammy.”

“I am never going to say yes to you.” Sam strained against the bonds tying his hands and legs together. There was no give, not even enough for him to even try to find purchase against them. All Sam could do is glare. “Never again.”

Lucifer crossed the store again, kneeling down besides Sam, sighing. “I feared that would be what you would say.” Sam flinched away as Lucifer reached out to stroked his cheek. “I suppose there is always time for you to change your mind.”

“Never.” Sam choked out.

“Oh Sam,” Lucifer sighed heavily. “Aren’t we past this? You make me seem like such a bad person.”

“You tortured me!” Sam cried. “That is exactly what a bad person does!”

“I didn’t torture you _that_ much.”

“Fire and brimstone!”

“Oh…No, no, no. The fire and brimstone was not me.” Lucifer said, looking put out that Sam would even _think_ that the torture he had experienced at the hands of the Archangel was his responsibility. “That was Michael. He always goes for tackier option. It lacks any real personality or flare, if you ask me. But in reality, you were just collateral to him. No, Sam, you and I were much closer.”

Sam froze with fear, memories from the cage resurfacing after so long shoved under massive amounts of repression and grade-A Winchester denial. When Lucifer reached out to stroke Sam again, he had to bite back a scream, fighting the terror inside and trying to channel it all into a glare. He wouldn’t give Lucifer the satisfaction, not here, not now. Not after everything.

“Still fighting me, Sammy?” The smile that spread across Lucifer’s expression was nothing short of bliss. “I think that’s what I love most about you.”

Sam’s phone took the opportunity to ring, then.

It is a little known fact that the ringing of a cellphone actually sits at the same frequency as the siren songs of old. It takes a will of steel or great mental discipline to ignore the call completely.

So when Sam’s phone rang, he automatically searched for the source. Lucifer, who was not human and so therefore was not affected by its song sighed and pulled Sam’s phone out of his jean pocket.

“Speaking of torture, it’s Dean again.” Lucifer announced, looking down at the caller ID. Then he rejected the call.

One of the Demons shifted slightly by the door and nervously cleared its throat. “Um, my lord?” the demon said, and Lucifer turned to look at it. “That would be…third time he has called. Shouldn’t you, ah…turn off the phone?”

For a moment, the entire room, the entire area, went dead silent. Even the flies stopped flying. Then, Lucifer broke the silence with a smile. “Not yet, my dear.” He said, standing up. “You’ve got to make them wait for you.”

The demons stared, either too confused or too terrified to say anything.

Lucifer sighed. “I guess he _has_ waited long enough.” Lucifer admitted finally, talking to himself more than anybody else and then smiled down at Sam. “Dean deserves to know where his little brother is, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t—!” Sam started but the gag was back in his mouth and Sam wretched a moment at the sudden re-introduction of fabric into his mouth before recovering to cast Lucifer the dirtiest glare he could.

“Don’t be rude, Sammy, I am making a call.” Lucifer tsk-ed, pressing the call return button on Sam’s phone.

*********************

Dean nearly jumped when his phone suddenly rang with Sam’s name showing up on the screen. He had only really tried Sam’s phone out of the desperate idea that it may have been dropped somewhere in the store. Dean was really not expecting to get a call back. That’s probably why Dean hardly thought before he had answered his phone.

“Sam?”

“Hello Dean,” the voice on the other end said and it was most definitely not Sam’s voice. It belonged to a woman, for a start.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He is right here, but I’m afraid Sam’s a little tied up at the moment. Can’t come to the phone, but shall I give him a message?” She said, and Dean could hear the smile on her lips. The female voice on the other end was not familiar, but he hunted enough monsters who jumped bones faster than most people changed their hairstyles. And she knew him and had Sam’s phone, which could mean many things. He was already running through his mental list of the Winchester enemies, which was far too large and contained less dead ones than Dean would have liked

“Who is this?” Dean said finally.

“You don’t recognize me?” She sounded hurt. “That’s a shame, Sam got it right away.”

“Remind me then, will you?” Dean snapped, feeling impatient.

“The last time I saw you, you tossed me into my cage.” She paused. “I am the dawn of the morning, the light-bringer. Do you remember me, Dean?”

No. No. No.

“Yes.” Dean choked. “Lucifer.”

“There we go, give this man a prize.”

The world had frozen around Dean, just stopped in its tracks and only Dean and the voice on the other end of the line, and somewhere on the other end, Sammy.

“Wow.” Dean said, laughing in his fear, “I mean I always knew you were a whiney little brat, but I didn’t realize you were such a pussy too.”

“Dean. Such language! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Shut the fuck up you whore—“

“I wouldn’t go around pissing off the person who currently has your brother completely at her mercy if I were you.” Lucifer said, with an edge to his voice. “I certainly did make your brother my bitch in Hell, I think I can do it again, here. Maybe this time I will make you listen.”

Dean’s voice caught in his throat.

“Here is the deal, Dean.” he continued, like he was talking to a child, “If you give me what I want, I’ll give you little Sammy here back. Sam will be completely whole and well and you two can go off on your merry little way together, I won’t stop you.”

“What?”

“I am proposing a trade.”

Dean swallowed hard. “What could I possibly have that _you_ would want?”

“My brother, Castiel.”

Dean’s heart nearly stopped. He hesitated, licking his lips nervously. “What are you talking about?” He said, sounding unconvincing even to his own ears, “Cas is dead. You killed him yourself.”

“Do you take me for a fool, Dean? I know he is alive. I know what he has been doing since he got back—the Civil war, purgatory…Heaven. Come now, Dean. A brother for a brother, I think that is a fair trade, don’t you?”

“No.” Dean forced out.

“No?” Lucifer repeated back, “Sammy? Did you hear that? Dean doesn’t want you back.”

There was a sound on the other end of the line and Dean heard his brother cry out “Dean—“ before he was swiftly cut off.

“You bitch!” Dean growled, gripping his phone so tight his knuckles were white. “I’m going to hunt you down, and when I find you—“

“Don’t bother,” Lucifer said, cutting him off. “Let me make this very simple for you, Dean. I will let you think on this. In three days time, I’ll give you coordinates, and you can bring me Castiel. Or, you don’t bring me Castiel and you will never see your brother again. I’ll bury him so deep that his soul won’t even reach Hell by the time I’m through. Do you understand me?”

Dean understood. He understood perfectly. He was ransoming his brother and damn it if the bastard didn’t know exactly how to get at Dean. “I’ll make you burn for this.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Lucifer said, hanging up the phone with a click.

Dean stood in the aisle, trembling, before letting out a cry of rage and knocking over a nearby shelf. Or two. He could have trashed the whole grocery store, but the officers were staring and Dean spun around before anybody could start asking questions and started off towards Cas, dragging him wordlessly away from the counter and to the exit.


	7. Wherein Allies are Gained and Lies are Told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Televangelists, Crowley opens his mouth, Enough Angst to Kill a Horse, Dean’s Potty Mouth, Dumb Idiots in Stupid Love and Everybody needs to stop self-sacrificing themselves.

Dean didn’t say a word as he got their stuff from the motel room, Cas silently helping and casting him furtive glances whenever he could. Dean held it together all the way until they were in the car and she was purring and alive and he had his hands on the wheel and nowhere to go.

“Dean…?” Cas asked tentatively, in a quiet voice.

Dean could barely hear him, though, his mind racing. It was 2014, Lucifer had Sam, the Archangels were gone, Cas was human, Heaven was empty and there was absolutely nothing standing between Lucifer and his total victory.

Dean had seen this future before.

“Cas,” Dean said finally, “Can Angels send people forward in time?”

Cas started a little and blinked. “Theoretically it may be possible…” he said, finally. “It would be exceedingly dangerous and—“ 

“Damn it Cas, I need to know!” Dean snapped. “Can it happen!?” 

Cas definitely didn’t flinch, but he didn’t say anything for a long time. “I don’t know,” he said, finally. “But, Dean, what is—“

“Lucifer.” Dean choked out. “Lucifer has Sam. I don’t know how but somehow he busted out of the Cage and now he’s got Sam and—“

And things were different this time around. Maybe he could change things.

Dean’s brain was already filtering through the possibilities. Dean had the Angel tablet, they had Kevin, which was a lot more than they had before. They had the Men of Letters massive library, and Sam hadn’t said the big ‘yes,’ yet, had he?

Cas put a hand on Dean’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and Dean looked at his friend.

Lucifer wanted him. Lucifer wanted him bad enough that he was willing to trade Sam for Cas. Dean almost wanted to consider it. And the worst part was, aside from Dean’s weakness and cowardice, he knew that Castiel would go willingly. Cas would throw himself into the lion’s den in order to save Sam.

Dean wouldn’t let that happen, would he?

Dean’s mouth was dry when he tried to swallow. “We’re gonna save my brother.” Dean said, unable to meet those blue eyes, pulling the car into gear and onto the road.

No matter what, Dean could not tell Cas.

*********************

Nobody can kill an Archangel except another Archangel.

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true, but allow for a rephrase: Nobody should be allowed to kill an Archangel except another Archangel.

Maybe the roots of pride that infected Lucifer so strongly stemmed from the four first angels and their relationship, because while they may bite and scratch and tear into each other, while Gabriel may speak his mind openly to Michael where no other angel would dare, while Raphael may joke and tease, they were a world unto their own.

If some fool were to mess with any one of the four like they messed with each other, the wrath of the other three would fall upon that poor souls head. It was automatic; it had seemed natural.

It does other angels injustice to say that they were not as close to one another as the four archangels were to themselves. But there was a kind of love that ran deep.

After Lucifer’s Fall, everything had changed.

And yet, when Lucifer killed Gabriel, it was terrible but it was also right. It was the only end befitting his brother, even if his end did Gabriel no justice. Because it had come at the hand of Lucifer.

Lucifer was furious that Castiel had had the _gall_ to throw a holy oil molotov cocktail at Michael because nobody—absolutely nobody, not Castiel, not Dean Winchester and not even God—was allowed to mess with Michael. Even after everything that had driven Lucifer and Michael apart, in that moment it was like nothing had happened between the brothers.

Gabriel should have only died at the hand of an Archangel. Michael should only suffer pain at the hands of an Archangel. It was only right. It bordered on sacrilege that anyone else would even think of it.

That’s why Lucifer’s fury, his anger that kept him alive and burning in the Cage, now turned to Castiel.  

If there is one thing Lucifer knows how to do, it is how to hold a grudge. He had had a very long time to learn and master the art of it. Lucifer had smote Castiel once before for hurting Michael. He would not be so kind this time.

*********************

Michael knew a thing or two about directing and commanding angels. Even confused and terrified angels. He had successfully rallied the angels together in Heaven, held it together despite Gods absence and had lead them for what had been, in Raphael's opinion, far too long.

But this was an entirely different game altogether.

Metatron’s spell had destroyed their wings, making flight impossible. Michael couldn't help but wonder if he and Lucifer were the only angels left with their wings intact, but even that was not entirely true, as Lucifer’s wings still bore the scars of the fall and fight and Michael's wings were....well, Lucifer had never been above pulling hair or feathers.

It was an inconvenience, as Michael could hardly carry all of his forces around with his wings, and it made travel and transportation almost painfully slow to the archangel. And it limited the kinds of attacks Michael could launch--he had prepared for a force with wings but he was not entirely incapable of commanding one without.

There seemed to be other things the spell had done, or maybe it was just whatever had happened since he was pulled inside his brothers cage, but Angels were splintering off into factions.

His Angels, the loyal few who had freed him, wasted no time telling him the situation: In Raphael’s fall, Heaven had mostly held itself together, although there had been factions that formed and whispers of a Naomi behind the scenes.

 Of course, that made sense. Naomi worked behind the scenes, always making sure things went smoothly. She couldn’t hold Heaven together, but she could keep things running. And that was what Michael had needed her to do.

“We haven’t heard of her since the Fall,” was all that was said to Naomi’s location.

And now the factions became even more splintered and polarized. The largest factions belonged to Bartholomew, one of Naomi’s protege’s, and Malachi, who had apparently also lead a group against Naomi’s efforts.

They were anarchists, which was completely unthinkable…At least, that's what Michael had believed. There were a lot of things Michael had once firmly believed in which he now was finding completely changed.

It was strategy but also a desire for familiarity that brought Michael to Bartholomew’s doorstep. Bartholomew’s faction appeared to be the most similar to Heaven in its structure and organization, and certainly less alarming than an anarchist or pacifist.

The building Bartholomew had established his operation at was large and spacious, the foyer filled with light as Michael and the angels stepped inside. The others were nervous, keeping close to the Archangel, flicking their eyes around while Michael looked the picture of calm confidence.

The moment Michael was inside, a complete hush fell over the building at his presence.

The entire population of Angels inside quickly poured out of the hallways, crowding the balconies to look down on Michael like children, drawn by the raw power of the Archangel. The humans stared, as well, unable to comprehend what they saw but recognizing that they were in the presence of a being much, much greater than even the Angels that were gathered among them.

Michael surveyed the crowd, noting the angels gathered. They watched in hushed awe, waiting with bated breath for something. Whatever it was, Michael didn’t know. At times like these, Michael longed for Raphael and his absence was deeply felt. Raphael had always been much better at the political side of things—Michael was a soldier, Raphael was a politician.

The silence stretched on until a harried looking angel pushed through the crowd and stumbled out into the foyer, the only area clear of the gathered crowd, save for Michael and the six angels at his side.

“Michael.” The angel, Bartholomew breathed, astonished.

“It is good to see you all, again.” Michael said, casting his eyes from Bartholomew to the gathered angels once more. “I have returned to you, my brothers, to restore Heaven to its rightful place, as the Lord intended.”

There was an excited murmur that ran through the crowd, as Bartholomew quickly recovered, fixing his suit and smiling, walking over to Michael and clapping his arm cordially.

“Michael! Your might will serve us well in these dark times.” He said, his voice carrying over the current. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

He spun the Archangel towards where he came, the crowd parting willingly for them now. Bartholomew gestured to one of the crowd who quickly began to order the other angels away. It was a difficult task, since the other Angels who were equal parts shocked and overjoyed, were eager for a look at the Archangel in his prime. Most Angels, even those who had been through the Civil War still believed in Michael as God’s hand, His weapon and commander of the Host.

Bartholomew brought them to a large office room, with rich wood panels and stain glass windows, set up as an office, with a large wooden desk, book shelves and a couch and chairs. Along one of the walls, however, was a stage set up, along with cameras and a painted background of a sky filled with clouds.

 A large, pudgy human crossed the room as they entered, his expression a mixture between a smile and concern. “What is all the fuss outside about, Bart?” The human asked as he approached.

“Reverend,” Bartholomew said, his grace bristling but showing none of it in his appearance. “Please, leave us. I will explain everything you need to know later.” 

The man’s wide eyes looked between Bartholomew and Michael, uncertainly as he nodded. “Of course Bart.” He said, then smiled again. “God bless ye.”

Michael stared at his back as the man moved past them to the doors, closing them behind him and then turned to look at Bartholomew, who had crossed the room and was setting up two glasses on a table.

“We have been using the Reverend to reach out to a larger population, to give our Brothers and Sisters vessels to walk the earth.” Bartholomew explained as he poured a glass of red liquid into one of the cups. “Wine?”

“Yes.” Michael said, walking over to the camera set, staring at the sign. It read _Reverend Buddy Boyle’s Going for Glory Hour_ in gaudy golden lettering, painting a halo of light and clouds around the center podium.

“Televangelists. It is surprising how effective they are. Even you would be impressed with results.” Bartholomew crossed the room, handing Michael a glass before settling into one of the plush seats in the office. “If only it were as easy for you.”

Michael crossed the room to inspect the rest of its contents, paying the younger angel before him little mind. Silence fell over the room and stretched on for a long moment until Bartholomew cleared his throat and broke it.

“You are back. But….How did…”

“I was freed by the loyal.” Michael commented, stirring the wine in his cup vaguely.

Bartholomew swallowed, his jaw tightening. “Of course, I meant to—“

Michael held up his hand to stop him, “I am not interested in excuses or justifications. The state of Heaven has been one of chaos and disorder for far too long,” he said, “We have strayed too far from Father’s plans.”

Bartholomew pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Heaven has been without clear leadership for far too long, and if we are to retake it, we must be united.”

“You will retake Heaven?” Bartholomew asked, eyes widening.

“Heaven has always been my top priority.”

“So Lucifer…?”

Michael raised his eyes finally to the younger angel before him and Bartholomew’s mouth snapped shut. Michael studied Bartholomew for a long moment before settling back into his chair.

“Well,” Bartholomew said, clearing his throat once Michael had looked away. “I suppose we have some work to do, then.”

*********************

Dean drove straight on to the Bunker in complete silence, not stopping even once along the road. Cas quietly grimaced his way through the day, but Dean was not going to risk giving Cas any pain killers, least he become hooked. It was cruel and paranoid, but Dean couldn’t afford to take any chances. Not here, not now.

He only broke the silence to call Kevin and get him looking on anything relating to Archangels and how to stop them on the Angel tablet. Then he returned to the awful silence, his eyes fixed on the road, gripping the steering wheel tight.

If there was something, anything they could do, Dean needed to try it. Then again, Dean didn’t even know if Sam was really Sam anymore. Sure, Lucifer had sounded like some chick when he spoke on the phone, but didn’t Lucifer always say Sam would give the big Yes in Detroit? Would Sam give in, with the Devil that had haunted his steps for so long back again? Would Sam take that way out? Didn’t Lucifer always promise this was inevitable?

No.

Dean couldn’t afford to think that way.

“How could Lucifer have busted out of the Cage?” He asked, finally, when they were two hours from the bunker and night had long since set in. Cas started a little at the sudden interruption of the silence, sitting up in his seat from where he had slumped by the door. “I thought the seals were an one time use only deal.”

“They were.” Cas said, “Certainly the most direct route for opening the Cage, but not the only one.”

“Okay, so what else could open it?”

“God could.”

Silence settled over the car again and this time, Dean tore his eyes off the road to look at Cas in the passenger seat. Cas was staring out the side window, his expression hidden from Dean. It was only a moment, before a slight bump in the road caused another grimace and Cas pulled himself back up.

“There are spells, I think, that could have opened the Cage. Raphael was planning on using one of them to start the Apocalypse again, but they were very difficult and delicate.” Cas continued, as if there had been no pause. “We interrupted one ritual during the War, and after that, Raphael did not have another chance to prepare another and instead dedicated his forces to fighting our resistance.”

“Okay, so a spell.” Dean said “Any other ideas?”

“I don’t know,” he frowned darkly at his own lap. “Theoretically the Cage was only built to contain one Archangel, not two. But—“

“But they would never get their heads out of their feathered asses long enough to work together to bust out?” Dean filled in.

“Basically.”

There was a headache pressing against Dean’s temples but he pushed it away as Cas returned to staring out the window again, watching another road sign flicker past.

“Whoever controls Hell, on some level also controls the Cage.” Cas said, finally. “Technically it is it’s own realm, but it is also connected to Hell, fundamentally. If Raphael had ways of opening the Cage from Heaven, then it is likely there are ways of opening it from Hell.”

“So Abaddon could have sprung Lucifer? Great. Just what we needed.” Dean growled, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

“Crowley had said he put protective measures around the Cage to prevent it from opening, and he had attempted to root out all of Lucifer’s devote in Hell once he became King. He may have some idea as to how this came about.”

Dean nodded slowly. They had the King of Hell and the Word of God. Somewhere in that mess, there must be some sort of answer.

*********************

By the time they reached the Bunker, they had lapsed into silence again and Cas had drifted to sleep. He only barely woke in time to watch Dean slam the car door shut and quickly scrambled to get out of the car as well and to follow him inside.

“Got anything on those archangels, Kevin?” Dean called out, already crossing the main atrium by the time Cas got inside the door. The sound of something being knocked to the floor from the library resounded and Kevin appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed and disheveled.

“No, I haven’t.” Kevin said, staring out at Dean. “I thought you said all the Archangels were gone.”

“I need that information yesterday Kevin,” Dean didn’t even pause, walking towards the dungeon. Cas hurried after Dean, almost as disheveled as Kevin, trying his best to walk off sleep and the soreness. Kevin groaned and disappeared back into the library by the time Cas caught up with Dean.

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to Crowley.”

Cas frowned but followed Dean down to the dungeon. When they pulled open the door, Crowley was leaning back in his chair, looking purposefully relaxed and flashed a smile when they walked in.

“Castiel, good to see you after so long.” Crowley said. “You’ve lost your wings.”

“Alright Crowley,” Dean crossed the dungeon, setting his hands on the table and looking the King of Hell in the eye. “You’d better start talking.”

“About what, might I ask?” Crowley leaned back. “Because I could tell you some pretty fascinating works of fictions I believe you would be interested in hearing. You two are the main characters and, well, to put it simply, I think God and Carver Edlund would have dropped dead with envy at the pretentious load of rubbish and pornography that this writer was capable of jerking onto a keyboard—“

“What?” Dean stared at Crowley for a moment then shook his head. “No, you sick son of a bitch, I am talking about Lucifer busting out of Hell.”

Crowley looked incredulously up at them. “That’s impossible.”

“Obviously it is not because Lucifer is up here, out there and he has my brother.” Dean snapped.

“If Lucifer is free, then its news to me, Squirrel.” Crowley said, leaning back. “All the Angel’s fell, didn’t they? Who says some didn’t rise.”

“The Angel’s falling had nothing to do with this.” Cas said, stiffly.

“You sure about that, flyboy?” Crowley smiled at Castiel.

“I wouldn’t be smiling if I were you, Crowley.” Dean pointed out. “Lucifer is going to be coming for your ass next, I think. And maybe we’ll hand it to him on a silver platter.”

Crowley looked decidedly less cool or confident. “You wouldn’t—“

 “Would I?” Dean asked, his voice dropping low and menacingly quiet. “Because last time I checked, Lucifer has my brother and you had promised to keep him in Hell. So whose fault is it, really, for why Sam is missing?”

“Dean,” Cas said, putting a hand on his shoulder firmly. Dean closed his eyes for a moment before pushing away from the table. “We can still find a use for him.”

“Listen to your boyfriend, Squirrel.” Crowley warned. “Wouldn’t you rather have the devil you know than say, the actual Devil?”

Dean’s expression smoothed and did something that could almost be described as a smile. “Yeah, I think that we’ll find some use for him.” He said, then turned, walking out of the dungeon and waiting only for Cas before closing the metal doors.

“Hey!” Crowley called but Dean wasn’t listening and so Cas certainly wasn’t. They closed the door behind them, blocking out anything more the Demon might have said. Dean met Cas’ eyes in the quiet hall and for a long moment, they just breathed together in silence. Then Dean turned and left him standing alone.

*********************

What followed was agonizing. Dean decided that, ultimately, it didn’t matter how Lucifer got out; what really mattered was getting Sam and putting the Devil back where he belongs. So Dean, Cas and Kevin poured into research—Cas and Dean trying to pick their way through the Men of Letters’ massive library and Kevin trying to search the Angel Tablet for anything of use against Archangels.

Unfortunately most of the Men of Letters’ information on Angels and Archangels were based on hearsay, and although a great majority of it was more factual than most other Angel lore, it was still rather shaky.

But still, anything was better than nothing, which was what they had. So they had plunged ahead.

Cas had collapsed about one hundred pages into another ancient tome, falling asleep without really meaning or even being aware of it, his head on the large book, which was really more of a brick than a pillow and snoring ever so lightly.

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and glanced at the clock—which now read 7 o’clock in the morning.

Dean hated research on a good day, and this was as far from a good day that Dean could think of. At least Cas was here, when he wasn’t drooling on ancient texts, but somehow that made it all worse because each hour of fruitless searching and the looming hopelessness of the situation bearing down on them, Dean was beginning to realize the only way he might be able to get his brother back would be to agree to Lucifer’s terms.

Which Dean would do, but Dean couldn’t hate himself anymore than he already did.

Dean closed the book he has been reading closed with an audible snap and suddenly, Castiel was sitting bolt upright, looking wildly around, his hair sticking almost completely up on one half of his head.

Slowly, Cas seemed to remember where he was and what he was doing, and slowly his eyes fell back down to the book and then up to Dean.

“Coffee?” Dean asked, pushing back from the table and stretching and making his way, stiffly, towards the kitchen.

*********************

Sneezing was a terrible experience, Cas decided. Angels didn’t sneeze, and as far as Cas was concerned, nothing else should, either.

But here he was, sneezing in a dark and dusty storage room filled with boxes and files. Dean had sent Cas into the filing rooms of the bunker to try and find more information they could use. It helped that Castiel could understand the filing system the Men of Letters had established for their stores—written in cuneiform, which was really an much more effective system for filing and organizing, but unfortunately difficult for Dean or Kevin to comprehend.

He quietly pulled the last file box he had been sent to fetch from its slot and pick it up with the others and began to head back to the library.

He was about halfway there when it really sunk in. Cas looked down at the boxes in his arms and felt his own feet slow until he stopped right in the hallway. He knew, on some level, that he couldn’t just stand there and that Dean would need these files as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to move.

Why were they doing this?

Okay, logically he knew the answer: to save Sam Winchester from a terrible Fate at the hands of Lucifer. But really, there were just too many things that did not line up, and it was itching at Cas like those terrible mosquito bites.

There was no reason for Lucifer to call Sam, other than to gloat, but that would be entirely out of character. No, there was a purpose to that call. It was a threat. To scare Dean. But scare him into doing what? There must have been a demand or a purpose in that action, or else Lucifer would not have taken it.

Lucifer asked for something from Dean, and Dean was keeping it secret.

Castiel trusted Dean. But it was different now, obedience and trust were not written into his coding now as it was when he was an Angel. Thoughts could creep in unbidden, and those thoughts told Cas that Dean was keeping something from him.

What did Lucifer want?

And why was Dean keeping it secret?

Cas forced himself to move, continuing down the hall. As he entered the library, Dean was still busy in research, his head ducked down, standing and leaning against the table with his hands splayed on the wood. Kevin was nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best.

“Dean?” Cas looked at him once he had set down the boxes he was carrying.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean asked, not looking up from the files he had spread out across the table.

“What did Lucifer say to you?”

Dean’s shoulders tensed slightly, his back going rigid but he didn’t move, didn't look up from the table. “I told you, already.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“She—He told me that he had Sam.” Dean said, gruffly, head stubbornly down and refusing to raise. “Said if I ever wanted to see my brother alive, I’d—“

“You’d what?” Cas stared intensely at the hunters back, fighting to keep his voice calm. “Dean, what did he ask for?”

“Nothing, alright.” Dean snapped. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time—“

“What did he ask for?”

“Nothing!”

“Did he ask for the Angel Tablet? Kevin? The Horsemen’s rings?”

“Cas—“ Dean’s head snapped up and he spun around to look at him. “Look, it doesn’t matter because we aren’t giving.”

“But Dean—“

“He asked for you.” Dean said, grabbing ahold of Cas’ arms.

“Me?” Cas echoed, dumbly.

“He said if I gave you to him, he’d give me Sam. But we aren’t doing that, okay?”

Cas stared at Dean in shock, then in horror. “But Dean, Sam—“

“We’ll figure out something else, Cas.” Dean’s grip tightened on Cas’ arms. “You’re still family, and we don’t give away family to the Devil.”

“Dean.” Cas put his hand’s on Deans. “I’ll gladly make the trade.” 

“No. No. It’s not an option Cas.”

“It is, and it’s my choice to make, isn’t it?” Cas responded cooly, wrenching away from Dean and backing away. “If you won’t make the trade, then I will.”

“No, I can’t—“

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t loose you, too.”

Cas opened his mouth respond, shocked into silence. He closed his mouth and there was a long pause where Dean and Cas just stared at each other, breathing much harder than they should be.

Then, suddenly Cas let out a cry, his hands flying to his ears.

“Cas?!” Dean rushed over to him as Cas clutched his head like it would explode, crumpling to the ground and Dean half caught him, lowering him safely to the ground, panic rising swiftly.

By the time they were on the ground, Cas had stopped crying out and just sat, shaking for a moment. When Cas opened his eyes and slowly lowered his shaking hands, there was blood on his palms, from his ears. He met Dean’s eyes, his face pale and expression terrified.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was small as he gripped Cas by the back of his neck, their foreheads nearly touching. “Cas, what just happened?”

“Michael.” Cas gasped, then swallowed hard. “Michael just spoke to us.”


	8. Wherein Dean Makes a Very Stupid Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not as serious as they seem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious Chapter Warnings: Rape, Heavily implied past rape, Injury, Body Horror, Vessel Consent issues. Additionally: Lucifer’s Potty Mouth, Buckets of Angst, Massive Mood Whip Lash, Poorly Written Trauma/Injury, Dean’s Potty Mouth, Crowley Opens his Mouth and Narrative Potty Mouth

Around the world, thousands of people at once heard the same message: _Rejoice, O Brothers, for I will restore us to our place in His great Plan._

The Fallen Angels, Graceless or Not, of every group and affiliation, even those who had switched off their radio heard the message, felt the Archangel’s truest voice resonating through the very fabric of the universe.

Including one Angel in Pennsylvania who trembled with fear and took his first personal day off work that morning, an Angel in Idaho lets out a long held breath at the assurance of order once more and in Wyoming, a small group of Angels weep silently for what it means.

On a tropical island off the coast of Florida, a man removed his sunglasses and muttered to himself, “Well, I’ll be,” and some humans in holy places even heard the voice of the Archangel and a few would even mistake it for the voice of God, but can you blame them?

And in an underground bunker in Kansas, it was like the Apocalypse all over again.

*********************

Dean watched Cas leaning heavily against the table, trying to pull himself together. He was trying to be patient, he really was, but there was too much nervous energy, too many frayed nerves as it was.

“What do you mean he spoke to us?” Dean asked, finally, unable to contain his questions anymore.  Cas pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to clear the last twinges of pain wracking his sickeningly human head. “He spoke to the Host—to all the Angels.” Orders did not come direct, not even Raphael had spoken to the Host often. So this was shocking, to say the least.

“You still get Angel Radio?”

“Barely.”

“Okay, so what did he say?” Dean asked, impatiently, “Did he say anything about Lucifer?”

“He just said that he has returned to restore the Angels to their proper place in God’s plan.” Cas frowned slightly. “Michael is not exactly one to waste words.” In fact, Castiel could count the amount of times Michael had spoken to the Host on his human hand—including this latest message.

“Gods Plan, meaning the Apocalypse?”

“As Michael sees it, yes.”

“Great.”

Cas shifted, and it very much did _not_ look like he was hugging himself, pulling Dean’s tee and Sam’s flannel shirt closer around him. This was his fault, Cas knew. If Sam and Dean hadn’t gone out looking for him—

“Cas, hey.” Dean said, pulling Cas’ attention back to the hunter. “We did this once before, didn’t we? We’ll get through this.”

Maybe Dean was saying it more for his own benefit than Cas’, because Castiel already believed that if anybody in the world could stop Michael and Lucifer again, it would be the Winchester boys. But Sam wasn’t here.

Castiel could get Sam back. He would. No matter what Dean had to say on the matter, Cas would gladly do anything for them, even throwing himself literally into the Devil’s hands.

“Of course,” was what Cas said, and it was enough that Dean gave him a fragile smile.

Kevin, naturally, took that moment to burst in with a few dusty boxes and a giant smile on his face. “Guys, guys! Look what I found!”

Dean swore darkly, but Cas was already turning to the prophet. “What is it?” He asked, crossing to the table where Kevin set down the boxes and was pulling a file from one of them. “I hit a wall translating the tablet, but then I remembered there was an ancient codex laying around here somewhere so I went to go get it but then this box fell over and I notice the title and I thought—“

“Get to the point, Kevin.” Dean snapped.

“This spell is the answer to our Archangel problem.” Kevin announced, holding up a file. Cas snatched it from him, flipping through the papers. “The Men of Letters were experimenting with Enochian spells and came up with this one.”

“What does it do?” Dean asked, glancing at Cas, who was staring intensely at the page.

“Theoretically, it could force a Fall in an Angel.” Cas said, slowly. “It would turn them human.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I didn’t think so but—“

“But the Men of Letters certainly thought it was possible.” Kevin piped up. “They just never had a chance to test it out.”

“Okay…” Dean breathed, trying not to get worked up over the idea that this might, might be the end of all their concerns. “But would it work on an Archangel.”

“Possibly…” Cas frowned. “I could attempt to modify the sigil but, Dean—“

“Great, you and Kevin get to work on that.” Dean said, “I’ll work on tracking down Lucifer or Michael or whatever and we’ll get these son’s of bitches where it hurts, right?”

“Yeah, great, give us the hard work.” Kevin groaned, flopping down at the table. Cas looked at Dean through narrowed eyes, and for a moment Dean thought he wouldn’t believe him, that Cas would begin questioning and pushing and digging in his heels, but he only nodded.

“Fine.” He said, simply, gathering up files from the box as Dean fled the room, masking his relief.

*********************

It is an undeniable fact of the universe that Dean Winchester would do anything for his Sammy.

It is an absolute fact, like the sun sets every evening and God was a dick. It just is. So, even when faced with even an insane, treacherous and dangerous road to travel, Dean would gladly crawl on hands and knees through that road if it was for Sam. And to Dean, all roads currently pointed towards Michael.

Dean went about half-heartedly gathering the materials for a tracking spell, setting it up on the table, his head abuzz, mulling things over until he was sick with it and himself.

If he were being strictly honest with himself, he probably would’ve dug his own doorway to Hell before he let himself consider it, but Dean had long ago made a habit of lying to himself, so here he was again.

Dean Winchester was getting tired. Fighting off Apocalypse after Apocalypse, fighting the endless swarms of evil that, no matter how many people he and his brother saved along the way, would still crop up to kill more.

No matter what they did, people just kept dying.

So maybe Dean was thinking collateral damage, evening the odds. Could it really be better to let Lucifer reign undefeated, unchallenged victory than to suffer the losses? What hasn’t earth suffered after all? People’ll die, people will always die, but there will still be a world for them. At least, that was the idea. And who better to fight the Devil than freaking Michael?  

At what point, he wondered, do you cut your losses and go home?

There was nothing Dean wouldn’t do for Sam, even if it meant making a deal to let Michael ride him into the Apocalypse, Dean would do it.

He had been here once before, in a different year, with the Devil and Michael all over again. The circumstances were different but the situation boils down the same, and in the end, the song remains the same, doesn’t it?

Dean licked his lips and pushed away his thoughts, striking the match for the spell. That’s when a scream ripped its through the Bunker.

*********************

In many ways, Sam knew Lucifer more than he had ever wished to.

Or rather, he knew Lucifer’s torture more than he (or anybody else) would have ever wished to know. He knew that Lucifer had a way of getting exactly what he wanted, even if it was by force. That Lucifer did not rip and tear, he stole.

 Lucifer was precise, Lucifer was personal by design.

It’s not the pain that is the worst part of the torture, it was what he could do to your mind— It’s like possession, you couldn’t even control your own body. It’s betrayal is all the worse.

Maybe it was because Lucifer had been inside Sam’s head, he knew exactly what to do and what not to do the raise the reaction he wanted out of Sam. And Lucifer did just that, to steal a scream from Sam’s throat, to steal bits of Sam for himself.

But this was different.

It was fucked up enough that Sam understood Lucifer’s torture well enough to know that something was different, but he did and even though Lucifer fucked him and played him and made him come undone with a smile, he did it with abandon, in a way that Sam would almost call desperation.

There was a loss of control in Lucifer. Like trying to recall a feeling and watching it slip further and further away. There was mania in Lucifer's eyes as he arched his back over Sam and tore him to pieces.

*********************

Dean was already in the library doorway before the scream cut off, echoing through the concrete walls.  

Cas looked at him, wide-eyed and said, “Kevin went to the archives—“ before Dean had already turned down the hall and was running towards where Kevin’s voice had come from, Cas hot on his heels.

They made it to the archives just in time to watch Kevin stumble out, scrambling and on the edge of screaming while a tall man stumbled after him, looking desperate and panicked. “Kevin Tran, please—“ He cried, reaching out to Kevin which only caused Kevin to stumble back further.

“Ezekiel?!” Dean gaped. “You’re alive?!”

Ezekiel froze as Kevin, terrified but unharmed, escaped behind Dean and Cas.

“That guy was sleeping in the archives!” Kevin squeaked. “Ezekiel?” Cas echoed.

“How are you still alive, Zeke?!” Dean demanded, “And why aren’t you with Sam!”

Ezekiel shifted uncomfortably. “I…Lucifer forced me out of Sam—“

“Wait, what?!” Kevin cried from behind them, and Cas looked to Dean for explanation. Dean grimaced a little, rubbing the back of his neck.

“There may have been some details I left out…” He said, avoiding meeting Kevin or Cas’ eyes. “I might have tricked Sam into saying ‘yes’ to Zeke here so that he could heal him—“

“Dean—” Cas started but Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Look, I know what I did. But Sam was dying from the Trials and…And I had to save him.” Dean said, setting his jaw and looking up to meet Cas’ blue eyes.

Slowly, Cas turned to look at the Angel, standing in the hallway and looking rather trapped and nervous. “You were healing him?”

“I did the best I could.” Ezekiel answered, stiffly. “I was going to leave him once Sam was healed but…”

“Lucifer, right?” Dean asked.

Ezekiel nodded slowly. “There was nothing I could do. So I came here…”

“To help?”

“I didn’t mean to collapse.” He muttered, disjointedly.

“So,” Dean said, his voice barely containing his angry impatience and frustration, “you just left my brother, completely alone and unprotected in the hands of Lucifer!”

“Not completely unprotected,” Ezekiel said, weakly.

*********************

“I missed your soul, Sammy.” Lucifer gasped over him, fingers tracing down the lines of his chest. “I missed it so much. It burned like…God…It burned like Creation.” He pulled himself up, a dangerous glint in his eyes, manic and wild, his palm flat over Sam’s chest. “I just want to burn again.”

His hand sunk through Sam’s skin and Sam let out a scream as red hot pain traveled down his body, but Lucifer was screaming too. Suddenly he was off of Sam, his body writhing on the ground, screaming, his real voice mingled in the cries of his vessel, shattering glass and causing Sam to cry out, his hands flying to over his ears and curling onto his side as he was bombarded with pain from all sides.

 The screaming stopped and Sam and Lucifer sat in heavy silence, Sam moaning in pain, his ears ringing and Lucifer gasping for breath. Soon, laughter shocked its way out of Lucifer, harsh and bitter, more hysterics than actual laughter.

“Gadreel, you bastard.” He panted, part laughing, part hysterics. “I’ll kill you for this, I swear.”

Sam cautiously lowered his hands, glancing over at the archangel. Lucifer’s arm—if it could be called that anymore—was completely blackened, like burned bones, stripped of all the muscle and fat. All the joints were twisted wrong, from the elbow down, bending in ways that bones shouldn’t. Sam’s stomach wretched looking at it and he quickly turned away.

Sam tried to move, to push himself up and away, but all he could manage to do was to, shakily attempt to roll over before his body gave up and he simply lay there. Lucifer looked in no better shape to move, staring at his arm with a twisted smile on his face.

“Blasted guardian,” Lucifer continued, the hysteria dying down. “Do you know what he did to you Sammy? He blocked your soul. I can’t touch you.” Lucifer’s arm began to slowly rebuild itself, sinew and muscle regrowing, skin forming over, bones snapping back into order. “I think it would have killed me if I’d tried to possess you. He’ll suffer for that…”

“W-who?” Sam couldn’t help it. The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Gadreel.” Lucifer said, hatred rising to replace the hysteria. “The Angel _you_ whored yourself out to while I was gone.”

Sam stared at him, because Lucifer, if nothing else, rarely made this little sense.

“Come on Sammy.” Lucifer said, staring into Sam’s eyes. “You said yes to him after all, you must’ve known you were possessed. You were dying, he was healing you.”

Slowly, a look of horror passed across Sam’s face, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. Lucifer saw it too, because he pushed himself up, his arm pressed against his stomach.

“You didn’t know.” He said, astonished. “You really didn’t know.” Lucifer barked a laugh. “You were tricked into possession.”

Suddenly, things made sense. The little gaps in time, how he had been feeling better than he had in years, the trials. “Dean…”

“Geeze, Sammy…And I thought _my_ family had issues.” 

*********************

“A sigil?” Cas frowned. “What sigil?”

Ezekiel gestured helplessly and Cas pushed a pen and pad of paper over the desk at him. He hesitantly looked from Dean to Cas before picking up the pen and drawing an intricate design on the paper. Cas’ eyes widened as he inspected it.

“So you see,” Ezekiel said, “Sam is protected.”

“Cas, translation?” Dean asked, probably more snappy than he needed to be.

“This is a very powerful Sigil.” Cas turned to Dean, pointing the drawing as he did. “It’s one of the protective Sigils on the Gates of Eden. It prevents anything from gaining access to whatever it is drawn on. Sam is effectively protected against Lucifer, or anyone really, trying to penetrate his body or his soul.”

“First off, never talk about penetrating my brother ever again,” Dean said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Secondly, in case you didn’t notice, Lucifer already got into Eden, so hasn’t he gotten the sigil jailbroken by now?”

Cas and Ezekiel squinted slightly in unison at Dean’s slang, before Cas shook his head.

“No, Dean, you do not understand.” Cas explained, “Lucifer didn’t force his way into Eden, he was let in.”

“He was let in?” Dean repeated. “What sort of dumb bastard let Lucifer waltz right in to the Garden of Eden?”

“A great traitor.” Castiel said.

Ezekiel made a noise that could have almost been a whimper. “There was no word for ‘lie’ back then.” Ezekiel offered quietly when Cas gave him an inquisitive look.

“Something Lucifer is an expert at.” Dean conceded. “But look that sigil still doesn’t solve the fact that he has my brother.”

“I…” Ezekiel hesitated then drew himself up, like coming to a conclusion. “I will do whatever I must to make this right, to you and your brother. Tell me what to do to help, Dean Winchester, and I am at your service.”

Dean considered him for a moment, while Cas examined him silently from afar. There was a simple look shared between the two before Dean nodded, pulling away and walking back towards the table where the ingredients for the angel location spell was still laid out. “Great. You can get to work right now.” Dean said, holding out a box of matches to Ezekiel. “You can start by finding the Archangel Michael for me.”

 

 

"What do you mean you can’t get more specific?”

“How much more specific does he need to get, Dean?” Cas asked, his voice beyond weary and moving into annoyed and frustrated territory. “It is plenty specific.”

Dean crossed his arms, glaring across the table at Castiel. They had gone through at least three different types of spells to try and find Michael, and Dean’s patience was wearing thin, which frayed on Cas’ nerves too. Most of the tracking spells Cas and Ezekiel had tried were, as Cas had explained, disrupted by the nature of the Fall and Metatron’s spell, but they had finally found a location. Somewhat.

“New York City is not specific, Cas.” Dean scowled. “It’s the largest city in the U.S. for God’s sake!”

“Even so, it can’t be that hard to find Michael there,” Cas said, matter of factly.

“We don’t have God’s Google search here,” Dean snapped. “We aren’t going to be able to find one guy in a city of nineteen million.”

“It—It can’t be that hard.” Cas said, resolution wavering, remembering his humanity and all its limitations. “…Can it?”

“Yeah, it can.” Dean turned to Ezekiel, who up until that point had been doing a rather good job at trying to disappear completely, “So, are you positive we cannot get anything more specific than this?”

“I am sorry Dean,” Ezekiel said after a moment, sitting up fully and looking rather angelically constipated, “but that is as specific as the spell allows.”

“Would you be able to find him if we got you within city limits?” Dean asked, leaning forward on the table.

“Perhaps, if Michael is not hiding himself from other Angels.”

“Why would he need to hide from other Angels? Isn’t he like, the big guy upstairs?”

Cas shifted uncomfortably, familiar guilt settling over his shoulders. “Dean, those who most avidly supported the Archangels have almost all been destroyed, and the Host is fractured and splintered. If Michael ever had enemies, now would be their time to strike against him.”

There was a headache beating a savage tattoo across Dean’s forehead as he squeezed his eyes closed. “Fine. Whatever, if he is hiding himself, then we’ll…I dunno, we’ll suss out a way to uncover him. Zeke, if you’re so handy with sigils, work with Kevin on getting that forced Fall spell working. I am going to crash for a few hours, then we’re heading out to the big apple, understood?”

Ezekiel opened his mouth to respond but Dean didn’t wait for it, instead taking off down the hall. He sighed, pressing his mouth into a line and frowning. Cas lingered long enough to give Ezekiel a sympathetic look before setting off in search of sleep for himself.

*********************

Dean Winchester’s life had a habit of spiraling rapidly out of his control.

The archangel who had spent the better part of a year trying to jump his bones in the least sexy way possible was now out and apparently running about on earth. And, for some reason that Dean couldn't even begin to guess, he had put his apocalyptic grudge match on hold so that Lucifer could kidnap Sam.

Now, as Dean lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and unable to keep the thoughts running through his head quiet. All he wanted was Sam back, he wanted Cas safe and he didn’t even care how he got them there.

Dean knew he was about to do something very, very stupid.

He pulled himself up out of his bed, and walked out of his room, pausing only to check the room next door, where Cas was sprawled on the mattress, limbs and body at odd angles like he hasn't figured out quite how to sleep properly yet, which, if Dean really thought about it, was probably the case.

Dean only halfway resisted the temptation to lean against the doorframe and watch Cas some more, but then he noticed the way Cas was frowning, and how his fingers clutched at the pillow.

God, he was such an idiot.

Dean pushed himself away from Cas’ room, shutting the door as softly as he could and set off down the hall. Dean may be an idiot, but he still has some chips to cash in, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let anything stop him from possibly saving both Sam and Cas. Even if it meant ending the world to do it.

*********************

There were many things Crowley considered himself. Powerful, for one. Witty, sexy, clever and lovable followed quickly in succession, and definitely all fitting under the banner of charismatic.

But above all, Crowley was a survivalist.

And if survival meant staying right here in this Devil’s Trap and Dungeon, safe and hopefully ignored, Crowley was going to have no problem with that.

Of course, when he heard the familiar sounds of boot-clad feet coming down his way, Crowley knew the likelihood of that happening was shrinking rapidly. Still, he bit his tongue and hoped that the literal walking manifestation of man-pain and self-destruction would pass him by. But Crowley was never very lucky, and Dean pulled open the sliding dungeon doors (seriously, who has sliding dungeon doors?) and stood in the hazy light, crossing his arms and considering Crowley.

“Take a picture, Squirrel, it will last longer.” Crowley smiled, leaning back in his seat.

“You make contracts, don’t you?” Dean said, drawn out pause, not even thrown by Crowley’s comment.

“I _was_ the King of the Crossroads, Dean.” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “What do you think I did?” _Shut up Crowley_ , said the little voice in the back of his head. But he was never good at listening to that voice.

“How are they enforced?”

“I enforce them.” Crowley smiled, smugly. “Pecking order of Hell and what not.”

“No, I mean. How do they work?”

“Trade secret, love.”

Dean growled, slamming his fists onto the table.

Crowley stared at the overwrought expression of masculine anger and was rather unimpressed. He wasn’t particularly afraid of Dean, but what he _was_ afraid of was exactly what Lucifer would do to him once he got ahold of his smokey backside, and keeping the Winchesters (Or Winchester, in this case) barking up whatever crazed tree they found now was his best path to surviving the Apocalypse part two safely inside the dungeon.

So Crowley sighed, exasperatedly. “The contact itself makes the deeds possible. The act of exchange powers the deal and ensures it keeps. It is binding, so both parties must be there for its completion, and or it’s annulment.”

Dean fell quiet for a long moment, frowning with thought.

“Don’t strain yourself.” Crowley commented dryly at the downright constipated look on the Hunters face. “You could hurt something thinking that much.”

“Make me one…” Dean hesitated, trailing off a little, and Crowley raised his eyebrows, waiting for the not-Moose to finish. “Make me one for an Angel.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me right?” Crowley snorted. “You can’t make a soul contract with an Angel, they don’t have souls.”

“Yeah and neither do Demons, but you still make them all the time.”

Okay, he had a point. And theoretically, it wouldn’t be that hard to rewrite the contracts as they stand to incorporate an Angel in the place of a Demon, as long as the exchange of Soul for Services is still the same.

Crowley learned forward thoughtfully. Another thing Crowley was was curious. Very, very curious. To a fault.

“What are the terms?”

“Huh?” Dean stared at him.

“The terms of the contact. What do you give, what do you get?” Crowley said very slowly because today seemed to be a very slow day. “What is the contact about?”

“Oh.” Dean said, getting it. But slowly, as was the theme. “I want Michael to save my brother and make sure neither Sam nor Cas are harmed in this shit storm and I’ll say yes to him.”

“Hold on a minute. Michael? Like, the _other_ big player in the Apocalypse game? That Michael?”

“Yes, that Michael.” Dean snapped, because now it was his turn to get annoyed. Game set, volley into Hell’s court. “Got a problem?”

“No, no, not at all.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “I only forgot that you were all for damning this bloody rock all along.”

“Can you make the contract or not?”

And here was the stinger.

On the one hand, Crowley really wanted to make that contract. Innovation, curiosity and bragging rights aside, there was nothing quite as satisfying as landing a difficult contract (and what was more difficult to make a deal with than a freaking Archangel?) and it could be a much needed tool in the Infernal Arsenal against the Heavenly dicks.

But if Dean was serious, there would be no world left and that was something Crowley was very, very much against. Because for all his bitching and moaning and his conquests in Hell, Crowley still liked Earth, thank you very much, and wanted to keep it right where it was.

And then there was the matter of Dean. If Crowley refused to cooperate, he could pretty much promise to find himself gift-wrapped and shipped off to Lucifer with a cherry on top. Not the prettiest picture, to say the least.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Crowley said, with the sinking feeling that he would most likely regret it. Then, just to push his luck.“But after I write it up, I go free.”

Dean considered him for another long moment then nodded, stiffly. “Fine. Once the deal is signed, you go free.”

Crowley waited for there to be a catch and ran through the words for a note of Winchester lies or sarcasm and somehow, found none. So they really were all fucked, then.

Dean was looking at him expectantly and Crowley held up his chained hands. “I’ll need some parchment and something to write with. Unless you want to let me out of this Devil’s trap, but I think I’ll stay right here.” He said, leaning back again.

Dean narrowed his eyes for a moment before turning to stalk out of the dungeon.

“A pen would be best, love!” Crowley called after him, “Crayon will just get you laughed at!”

Dean must have heard him, because when he returned, he had a scroll of blank parchment and a fountain pen. He slapped them on the table and gave Crowley one last look over. “I’ll be back.” He said, which probably sounded more like a threat in his head.

“You do that.” Crowley flashed him a little smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

Dean stalked off towards the door again, pausing just outside the dungeon.

“And Crowley?” Dean added, “Make sure its _not_ sealed with a kiss, alright?”

“Spoil all my fun, why don’t you…” Crowley grumbled, glaring down at the parchment, silently wondering how much Dean would really notice if he slipped in an extra clause or two, just to help himself a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being so patient! 
> 
> This chapter got dark, I know. It gets better soon, I promise!


	9. Wherein Things Get A Little Meta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Narrative Consistency?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Crowley Opens his Mouth, Schmoop, Dean’s Potty Mouth, Angels are Gay As Fuck, and a Bird Bath Full of Angst.

Castiel awoke mid-dream (mid-nightmare, really, but that’s all he’s been having lately) and stared at the concrete ceiling for a long moment, wondering if he could forget where and why he was there.

But it didn’t work, so Cas sighed and pulled himself out of bed, vaguely wondering what time it was (it was so much harder to keep track of these things as a human) and shuffled out of his room.

Cas knew Dean was betting on the sigil. While it seemed solid enough to his (admittedly, now human) eyes, Cas also knew that Enochian sigils could be tricky. While Ezekiel seemed to have an unknown talent for work with sigils (Which Cas had never known of him, but then again, there was so much Castiel probably didn’t know that it was astonishing), Castiel was very aware that there was no guarantee.

Then of course, there was the small matter of _going against Michael_. Michael, who defined Heavenly wrath. Michael, who undoubtedly had it out for Castiel as much as Lucifer did, and who certainly knew nothing of mercy or clemency. Michael, who would smite Cas without a second glance. Which, when Cas really tallied up the causes that his death could go to, was the most useless path to choose.

Cas also knew how desperate Dean was, at this point. Cas knew that Dean was grasping for whatever threads he could, desperate to put his faith into something that might bring his brother home to him.

But Cas was hesitant to put his faith in anything anymore.

As much as he wanted to believe they could succeed, he just couldn’t. If Dean could believe it, Cas could let him. He doubted Michael would harm Dean, but if things took a turn for the worst (and Cas had little hope it would go any other way), he would have to be prepared to…

To do what, exactly? Pray to the Devil? Run straight to Lucifer and hope that Lucifer gets him before Michael? That somehow he would let Sam go, and that Dean and Sam can escape unscathed, to save the world another day?

There was a pressure gathering behind Castiel’s temples, making it difficult to concentrate on anything, so he tried to set aside his thoughts as he emerged onto the foyer of the bunker from the hall.  

He arrived just in time to watch Dean crossing the room headed towards the kitchen while Ezekiel followed behind desperately.

“Dean Winchester, wait, please—“ Ezekiel cried, but it was too late and Dean was already retreating away from the library. He looked as if he might have followed, but his eyes caught on Castiel and he froze, quickly dropping his gaze to glare at the ground.

At least Cas knew where Dean was.

“Good morning, Ezekiel.” Cas said, after squinting at the clock to check that it was indeed, morning.

“Castiel.” Ezekiel returned to the floor, shuffling slightly.

“I can try talking to Dean, if its an urgent matter.” Cas offered, giving the other angel a small reassuring smile. “He is more likely to listen to me.”

Ezekiel’s head snapped up and he quickly shook his head. “No, no.” He said, quickly, his words practically tripping over each other. “No, it is nothing,”

“Are you certain—“

“Yes, absolutely.” Ezekiel was already beginning to back out of the room.

“Ezekiel, wait.” Cas called out with a guilty pang as Ezekiel turned to look at him, looking very trapped. He didn’t exactly blame Ezekiel for not wanting to be around him, after everything Castiel had done, he wouldn’t be surprised if all of his Angelic allies were now against him. So he quietly cleared his throat and said, “I am sorry. For the Fall, for…for everything.”

Ezekiel stared at him in silence, his eyes widening.

“I trusted Metatron when I should have been more cautious. I was just so…I was so eager to help Heaven that I was blind.” Cas shifted, fighting the urge to look away or fidget. “I just wanted to say that….I just wanted to say, thank you for your help.”

“Castiel…” Ezekiel said, his voice quiet and soft, “you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Cas felt a rueful smile on his lips as he shook his head. “There is no justifying the horror I’ve caused.” He said. “I just hope I can make it up somehow.”

“I know you can.” Ezekiel breathed.

Cas met his eyes once more and nodded. Ezekiel returned the gesture and then made his full retreat, much more hesitant this time, back into the library and Cas ran a hand over the back of his neck where it ached from how he had slept and turned to head after where he had seen Dean disappear to.

*********************

Dean hadn’t slept a wink, but he wasn’t tired.

No, that's not right. He _was_ tired. He was exhausted. But it was nothing that sleep could cure.

So he poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee and made a face when the burnt bitter liquid hit his tongue.

He had made himself scarce for a reason, mainly because he was hovering around the archives or the dungeon, trying to balance his nerves and his mistrust into a meaningful arrangement. Of course, Ezekiel had caught him almost the moment he emerged from out of the area, but Dean didn’t really care to listen to him. He was trusting the angel, sure, but Ezekiel seemed more skittish and cautious than was worth it, and if he had to hear somebody tell him he was crazy one more time, Dean wasn’t entirely sure what he would do.

He was bracing himself for a hasty retreat when he heard somebody enter the kitchen, but no voice followed the footsteps, so Dean turned cautiously and found a rumpled Cas staring at him with wide blue eyes.

“Hey.” Dean said, trying to pretend he didn’t notice that Cas was collecting layers of Winchester clothing like it was going out of style.

“Good morning.”

Dean turned, going through the motions of making Cas a cup of coffee, even though what was left in the pot was terrible, and after a moment of consideration, Dean dumped the last of the burnt crap down the drain and set up the coffee machine again.

“It was no good anyway.” Dean said, trying hard not to make it sound like a justification.

Cas didn’t say anything, but Dean heard him sit down at the table. They stayed in silence, Dean facing the wall and Cas’ eyes burning holes into Dean’s back, as usual. Dean stared down at his hands, pressed against the stainless steel counter and swallowed hard, listening to the bubbling of the coffee. When it was finally done, Dean poured himself and Cas fresh cups and turned around finally to face the table.

“You have nightmares.” Dean blurted out, suddenly.

Cas blinked up at him as Dean’s brain tried to back-peddle as quickly as possible, but before he could even open his mouth to begin, Cas had beat him to it.

“I do.” He said, like it was the simplest thing in the world, and yet was not.

“Oh.” Dean swallowed, and set the mug down in front of him, taking his seat across the table. “What do you dream about?”

Cas pursed his lips together, picking up his mug and holding it in both hands, close to him. “Abstractions, mostly. Shapes and sounds. Sometimes memories. My failures. Nothing specific.”

“I bet you totally dream of flying, huh?” Dean cracked a weak smile.

But the joke died before it had even left his mouth, because Cas just looked at him and said, “Not yet.” And suddenly Dean was dropping his gaze and staring hard at his coffee and hating himself, quietly.

Cas didn’t notice, or didn’t let the hurt show, because he simply took a sip from his mug and then silence fell again. Cas had never understood a thing about awkward silences, so it was Dean’s job to fill in the gaps.

He cleared his throat. “You know, heading out to find Michael, it might be better if you—”

“I am coming with you, Dean.” Cas said, firmly. He was frowning slightly, sitting up straighter, setting his shoulders.

“Cas—“

“No.” Cas shook his head. “I am going with you Dean.”

Dean’s smile, when it came this time, was weak, still, but it was natural. “I know Cas. I got it.”

Cas nodded, and then returned his attention to the coffee. The silence that fell then was not awkward, so Dean let it sit. By the time he had mostly finished his cup, Dean stood up and stretched.

“Alright. You’re gonna need a bag, pack up and grab Zeke. We’ll head out in an hour.”

*********************

Crowley watched Dean reading the contract, his lips moving ever so slightly as his eyes ghosted over the words. He was beginning to wonder he could toss things inside Deans mouth and if the hunter would even notice.

Crowley was in the process of trying to find something to throw into Dean’s mouth when Dean finally raised his eyes to him.

“This’ll work?”

“In theory.”

“In theory.” Dean repeated flatly.

“It has never been done before,” Crowley explained with the slightest roll of his eye, “so while it may be a rather brilliant work of contractual magic, there is always a margin for error.”

Dean huffed slightly and returned to reading the contract. Finally he seemed satisfied enough that he rolled up the parchment.

“Great, then. If you have nothing to say about the contract, I think you owe me your end of the bargain.” _Shut up Crowley._

“Fine then, you’re coming with me.” Dean said, walking around to the other end of the table.

“Wait, what?!” Crowley snapped.

“I’ll let you go after the deal goes through.” Dean responded, dragging Crowley up out of his chair after undoing the chains around the Demon’s body.

“No, no. Please, chain me up and leave me here. I am _fine_ —“

Whatever else Crowley had to say was cut off when Dean shoved a gag into his mouth, and duck tape for good measure, before throwing a bag over his head and dragging him from the dungeon.

Cas, Kevin and Ezekiel were no where to be seen yet, so it wasn’t very hard to drag Crowley into the trunk of the car. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but Dean liked to have some insurance going in, and besides, nobody but him and Sam went poking around the back of Baby.

Dean sighed, once the trunk was closed, and leaned against the cool metal frame.

*********************

Alexander Sarver loved his job.

That was true. Most people working in the customer service call center did not, but Alexander did. He was really good at it too, sitting there all patient nodding and contemplative understanding while the unhappy and exasperated people on the other line slowly calm down because _finally_ somebody who can actually do something. And when he was done, the customers left happy, sometimes with a glowing review and always, their problem solved.

Alexander was so good at his job and at calming even the most contrite customers that his coworkers began directing the more angry and indignant customers to Alexander. And the weirdest thing was that he genuinely enjoyed it. When there was a problem he didn’t know how to solve, he once even ran across and up the building to tech to find the answer. He turned down a promotion from management, which was something that had never, ever in the history of the Call Support Center happened.

“Alex,” his manager had said with astonishment, “you must be an angel of customer service to succeed in this job.”

That was also true. At least, partially. Because Alexander Sarver actually was an Angel, more commonly known to his brothers as Abner. But he wasn’t the angel of customer service. *

********************

Dean stretched, feeling his back pop with a sigh. They had stopped in some town in Pennsylvania, on their trek up to New York City for a refill and somewhere along the line of pumping gasoline into the car and paying, Dean decided he wanted more than just gas stop food before he faced down with an Archangel and drove into town proper, while Cas was still worrying over the sigil and Ezekiel sat in the back seat looking very much like he didn’t want to be there.

At least neither of his traveling companions noticed the demon in the trunk, so Dean was counting that as a win in his favor.

When he found a diner that looked like it would provide just enough heart-stopping food to settle the noises his stomach was making (out of hunger, he insisted, and not nerves), Cas and Ezekiel seemed satisfied to be in their own worlds. So when Dean got out of the car, only Cas seemed to notice that there had been a change.

“Hey, you.” Dean said, rapping his fingers against the window by Ezekiel’s head. “Grub time.”

“Angels do not eat.” Ezekiel said as he unfolded himself from the seat, staring up at Dean.

“Yeah, well humans do.” Dean looked over at the front seat. “Cas, that means you too.”

Cas sighed but obediently got out of the car and followed the hunter inside the diner. There were only a few people inside, so Dean found a table by the window where he could watch Baby.

In any other situation, Dean would have enjoyed this place. Most of the buildings were old, red-brick structures that were constructed so close together, they shared walls and fit together like puzzle pieces. Across from the Diner, there was a garden shop where the shopkeeper had set up flower displays on the side of the street. It was a nice day, and although Dean saw the clouds gathering on the horizon, there were plenty of people out on the streets.

He ordered a cheeseburger, with extra onions, because he may as well treat himself on what could very well be his last meal. Cas got a cheeseburger too, and Dean got Ezekiel a coffee, no matter how perplexed he looked about it. It was kinda funny, seeing Cas next to Ezekiel, and remembering how Cas was once very much like the other Angel.

Dean liked Cas now much better, at least.

He was nearly done with his food too, when Ezekiel froze, staring out the window and then nearly tipped the table over as he bolted to his feet.

“No, that isn’t…” Ezekiel whispered, then made for the door.

“Hey!” Dean cried, standing up. He threw down a handful of bills and ran out after the Angel “Son of a bitch!”

By the time he got outside the diner, Ezekiel was already halfway across the street, his eyes fixated on a man standing by the garden shop. The guy looked nothing short of ordinary, but that never stopped anything creepy crawly before, so Dean followed after the angel, already reading for his angel blade in his jacket, Cas quick behind him.

*********************

"Another coincidence, Metatron? Now this is just becoming contrived." The man paused his reading to look over the brink of the paper at the stories author.

Metatron, the author, shifted uncomfortably under his readers gaze and crossed his arms defensively in front of him. "It's a narrative tool. I'm showing divine influence on their paths, Fate. The coincidences are how you see God is in the machine and He works in mysterious ways."

"This isn't mystery, this is forced clichè."

"No," Metatron insisted, stubbornly, "this is God’s narrative will."

"Little angel," the man said, suddenly with no more enigma to exactly how powerful and old He is, "you are not God."

Metatron paled momentarily before his expression took on something that could vaguely be described as a pout, with nothing cute about it. "Just keep reading, will you? It gets much better."

*********************

“Abner!” Ezekiel cried, pulling to a stop suddenly. The man, angel, whatever turned to look at them and met Ezekiel’s eyes and opened his mouth but Ezekiel had rushed forward. “Abner, its me, Ezekiel.”

Abner looked at Ezekiel, tilting his head slightly before his eyes flickered over to Dean and Ca then back to the other angel. “Ezekiel?”

“Yes.” Ezekiel breathed. “I…I thought you were dead.”

Ezekiel reached out and touched Abner’s cheek as if he were uncertain the man in front of him was really there. At the touch, Abner’s hands were brought up to where Ezekiel’s neck met his shoulders and he gripped him there while Ezekiel’s expression seemed to melt—no, rather he collapsed inwards, the shell and statue perfection seemed to chip away and something very private and very intimate seemed to shine through the mask.

Dean couldn’t help but feel like some kind of intruder. He looked away quickly, and loudly cleared his throat. Both the angels turned to look at him and then Ezekiel stiffened up again.

“Usually people get rooms for this kind of shit.” Dean grumbled.

Ezekiel squinted slightly, tilting his head but Abner seemed quicker on the uptake, dropping his hands and clearing his throat.

“Sorry.” He said, then held out a hand. “You must be…ah, Ezekiel’s friends?”

Dean considered refusing the man’s hand because he was obviously an angel and even if Zeke was jumping over this guy didn’t mean that Dean really trusted him. He barely trusted Ezekiel as it was.

“Abner is my old friend.” Ezekiel said, as if reading Dean’s mind which, when Dean thought about it, was probably what happened. “There is no other Angel in the entire Host that I would trust more than he.”

Castiel blinked slightly, then, moved forward and grasped Abner’s hand. “That is high praise,” Cas said, despite the urgent stares Dean was aiming at the back of his head. “If Ezekiel trusts you, however, I will do the same. It is an honor to meet you, Abner.”

“I am afraid I recognize you, brother.” Abner said with a sad smile. “Castiel, our fearless leader.”

“Not anymore.” Cas said, stiffly. “I don’t do that anymore. I’m just…I’m just human now.”

“I understand.” Abner nodded solemnly.

“This is Dean Winchester.” Cas said, gesturing to Dean who was still rooted to the spot, hand gripping the angel blade still tucked inside his jacket.

Dean and Abner regarded each other, Abner keeping his distance and Dean happy to keep his, before Abner turned back to Ezekiel, eyes searching his.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, concern etched into his features, along with something else that Dean couldn’t quite place.

“We are going to Michael.” Ezekiel responded before Dean could even get a chance to cut in. “Dean plans to use a sigil that he found. We think it will force Michael to Fall.”

“Dude!” Dean cried. “Why don’t you announce it to the entire world while your at it?”

Ezekiel blinked at Dean, tilting his head slightly. Abner at least, grimaced.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Dean growled, grabbing ahold of Ezekiel’s sleeve and dragging him around the corner into a small alleyway. He barely paused a moment, just long enough to make sure they were alone before he whirled on Ezekiel. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“What?” Ezekiel blinked.

“Who the hell is that guy?”

“Abner is an Angel.” Ezekiel responded, his expression all open and surprised. “He is my best friend. He can help us.”

“How do you know this mook isn’t on Michael’s side?” Dean snapped, and Ezekiel looked rather scandalized on behalf of his friend.

“Abner is not. He wouldn’t.” He said, gesturing. “He would never.”

“Dean?” Cas poked his head around the corner into the alleyway, frowning slightly.

“Cas.” Dean motioned him over. “Do you know this guy?”

“Abner? Not personally.” Cas said, blinking. “He was a guard I believe. Neutral during the civil war.”

“Can we trust him?” Dean lowered his voice, pulling Cas closer, away from Ezekiel, who watched him wearily.

“Ezekiel trusts him.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ezekiel is a good angel.” Cas glanced over at the angel in question, then back to Dean. “Honorable. He promised to help you and Sam, I don’t think he would knowingly harm that cause.”

Dean frowned but looked over at Ezekiel and then sighed. Two Angels, no matter how you looked at it, was better than none going against Michael.

“Fine.” He said, roughly, and moved out of the alleyway, walking over to where Abner stood, by the wall of the shop and out of the way. Ezekiel was quick to follow, returning to Abner’s side, looking at him with something close to awe as Cas settled himself at Dean’s side.

 “You three really think you can stop Michael?” Abner asked, looking at them.

“We’re going to try.” Cas said. “Lucifer, too.”

Abner pressed his lips together, expression concerned, looking at Ezekiel.

“I’m going to fix things, Abner.” Zeke whispered. He nodded, swallowing.

“Well then.” Abner turned back to Dean and Cas. “Do you know where Michael is?”

“Not really.” Cas admitted, hesitantly. “We know he is in New York City, but other than that…”

“I work at a call center, I specialize in computers.” Abner explained, hesitating a moment. “When Michael made his announcement, it disturbed electricity east of the Mississippi. We tracked the source of the problem down to a neighborhood in New York. It’s likely that is where Michael is. I could give it to you if you wanted.”

“You’d do that?” Dean said, feeling relief course through him that he wouldn't have to scour all of New York City to find the Archangel.

“Of course. Anything to help.” Abner smiled slightly, his eyes mainly for Ezekiel and Castiel. He pulled out what looked like a grocery list and tore off a corner, writing down an address with the pen attached to the list, handing it over to Dean.

“Great.” Dean looked it over and tucked it safely into his pocket. “You’ll come with us, then, won’t you?”

“W-what?” Abner stumbled, then caught himself. “Why would you want me to go with you?”

“We’re a little low on backup, in case you couldn’t tell.” Dean said, gesturing to Cas and Zeke besides him. “More Angel’s on our side, more power to us. Besides I think the spell charges on Grace, or something like that.”

“I…” Abner faltered again. “I can’t, I have a—“

“Please?” Ezekiel whispered in that raw and tender way that made Dean squirm a little. “Abner, I…I can’t—“

It was clear that the moment Ezekiel had spoken, Abner had lost the battle. He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and drew a hand over his face. “Fine…Just let me make a phone call, will you?”

“Sure.” Dean said, then gestured towards where the Impala was parked. “We’ll be waiting over there.”

*********************

A Message on Ruth Sarver’s Phone:

“Hey sweet heart. I’m just calling to let you know that I’ve gone to New York for a few days to help out a friend. I…I’m sorry, I know this is sudden. Give Delilah a hug for me. I love you. I’ll be home soon.”

*********************

Dean never liked big cities all that much.

They were no good for hunting, they were noisy and crowded and densely packed which meant it was hard to go undetected. There was traffic, there were punk kids and Baby drew attention.

Yet probably what he hated most about big cities was the smell of them. You could never quite shake the scent of smog and human bodies and trash in a big city. Sure, Dean had smelled much worse in his career, but there was something about the smell of a big city that wormed it’s way under Dean’s flesh.

But standing outside the large office, Dean almost wanted the stench of the city back. Because here, it smelled like sterilization and burnt air in a way that could only be Heaven’s scent. At least the city was mostly human.

Dean fidgeted in the hall, scuffing the wooden floors with his boots. Trying to calm his pounding heart, Dean took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the parchment contract in his jacket pocket before pushing through the large wooden doors into the room.

The room was completely empty, except for one man sitting behind the large desk inside. The man raised his blue eyes to meet Dean’s and Dean swallowed hard, staring into the face of the Archangel wearing his dead brother.  

“Hello, Dean.”


	10. Wherein An Old Enemy Crashes The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occasionally, you CAN Ctrl+Z reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Poorly Written Fight Sequences, Narrative Potty Mouth, Deus Ex Machina, Dean’s Potty Mouth, Crowley opens his mouth, Castiel gains a potty mouth, Dumb Idiots in Stupid Love and fist-fights.

Castiel was an idiot. A total and complete idiot.

He also wanted to punch Dean Winchester in the face, but for now, all he could do was pace in front of his stupid car and give it dirty looks every few minutes.

The entire place was crawling with Angels.

They had made it within the city limits when Abner and Ezekiel had both sucked in breaths from the backseat and Abner at least, had helpfully informed Dean of the massive amounts of warding Michael’s angels had set up. Apparently, Michael was not hot on taking chances, Dean decided to find somewhere safe to park his baby and then plan out a strategy from there.

The problem with the spell, as Ezekiel and Cas pointed out, was that it would require the sigil to be activated nearby Michael—the closer, the better.

Of course, Dean insisted on going in alone.

Castiel told him he was an idiot.

Dean countered by saying that Michael was probably just as pissed off at Cas as Lucifer was. He also mentioned that Michael was less likely to smite him than any of them.

Abner and Ezekiel agreed with Dean.

Then, to add insult to injury, Dean insisted that Abner and Ezekiel stay with the car and Cas, supposedly for back up but more likely for babysitting, which they both readily agreed to do.

So now Cas was pacing in along the length of the Impala and trying to remember to breathe.

What the hell kind of plan did they have anyway? Even if the spell worked, what was Dean going to do with a newly human Michael? How was he going to escape the entire compound of angels?

The entire plan was flawed before they had even begun and Castiel was an idiot for being so blind.

Castiel finished another one of his laps around the car and then let out a huff of frustration and drew his Angel blade from his borrowed jacket. Ezekiel and Abner, who had been more or less happy to ignore Cas in favor of each other suddenly sat up to attention when they noticed the blade.

“I’m going in.” Cas said, daring either one of them to try and stop him.

“That—“ Abner started then sighed. “We’re going with you, aren’t we?”

“Do you have a weapon?”

Ezekiel nodded but Abner shook his head.

“I threw it away,” he offered, when met with Cas and Ezekiel’s gaze. “I didn’t think I would have any more use for it.”

“Oh, Abner…” Ezekiel muttered as Cas shook his head and walked around the car to the trunk.

“It is no matter, I believe Dean keeps some extra—“

Cas opened the trunk and froze.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

*********************

“Michael.” Dean stared across the room at him.

Michael was dressed in a suit, like the rest of the angels seemed to be, like they were all trying to appear as professional, for one reason or another, and he had gotten a haircut, but it was still Adam’s meat suit, Adam’s blue eyes that Michael used to evaluate Dean with.

“You look well.”

“And you still look like a dick.” Dean said, trying to ignore the fact that somewhere along the line, Dean had forgotten that it is still his _brother_ that Michael rode into the cage, and he doesn’t even know if the kid (God, he was only nineteen) was still alive in there. Even if Adam was not Sam (was never Sam), in some ways, Dean was responsible for this. Now Dean has to make it right again.

There was a contract and a sigil in his pocket, and Dean would put money on which one worked, if he weren’t already putting his soul on it. But he had to give it a shot.

Dean crossed the room, pulling the sigil from his pocket as he did (drawn ahead, so that all he had to do was activate it), slapping the paper down on the table and pressing his hand down on top of it.

The sigil sparked, the paper dissolving into flame and left Dean blinking white spots out of his vision. For a moment, it seemed like it had worked.

But then Michael was still there, sitting up and blinking a little. Dean had his hand over the smoldering desk, now, where the paper was gone and the sigil had burned itself into the desk. He withdrew his hand, which somehow was not harmed, and made for the Angel blade that was not there (when he had surrendered himself to be taken to Michael, he had given them all the blades he had) while Michael didn’t even look surprised or annoyed, simply leaning over to get a better look at his desk.

“Impressive.” Michael commented, mildly, reading the burnt sigil. “Experimental sigil work. I suspect you had help on this. Unfortunately, you failed to calculate—“

“That you’re an archangel, right?” Dean grumbled, feeling the heat rise to his face. “Just…Cut the crap, will you? What ever happened to your grudge match with Lucifer?”

Michael tilted his head slightly. “Ah. I suspect my brother has caused you and Sam trouble, has he?”  

Dean narrowed his eyes but refused to answer, feeling very much like Michael was talking down to him. Which he probably was, the Angelic dick.

“The Final Battle is still due to take place.” Michael continued, calmly. “Once I have taken back Heaven from Metatron, Lucifer and I will resume our places in God’s great Plan.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider maybe your whole great plan failed the first time because _it’s a terrible idea?_ You’d think you would have learned your lesson the first time.” Dean snapped and Michael raised his blue eyes to meet Dean’s.

“Why are you here, Dean?” He asked. “I had believed you made your point very clear last time about _your_ role in this.”

Dean slapped the contract onto the desk. Michael picked up the contract, his eyebrows raising as he opened it. “A soul contract? Really, Dean?”

“Lucifer has my brother.” Dean gritted out. “And I’m done. You save my brother, save Castiel and let them both into Heaven, and I’ll be your meat suit to that final battle you keep talking about. I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you, so I got it in writing.”

Michael’s lips twitched in a way that could almost be described as a smile.

*********************

Crowley was happy to spill his guts, especially to the three very pissed off somewhat Angels before him. Mostly because he was glad to be out of the trunk.

And he had an audience, one of whom stared with disbelief and growing horror, another who continued to look like a particularly constipated hang man and the last of whom seemed to get more and more pissed with each word that sprang from the demon’s lips.

“I thought this was the _exact opposite_ of what he was trying to do,” Abner cried, and Ezekiel looked like he was already making his peace and goodbyes, but Cas started rifling through the trunk, pulling out ingredients and laying them on the pavement.

“Uh,” Abner started but Crowley shushed him.

“I want to see where this is going.”

Then Cas grabbed ahold of Crowley’s arm, pulling it down over the spell he was laying out, cutting swiftly across Crowley’s palm with a blade.

“Ow! Hey!” Crowley snapped, wrenching his arm back. “Rude.”

But the blood had already fallen onto the spell and Cas was chanting Enochian as he struck a match. The spell sparked and smoke rose from the bowl, but Cas was already standing back up, pocketing the knife.

“Um, Castiel,” Abner said as Cas dumped out the ash contents of the bowl and stashed it back in the trunk, slamming it shut. “Did you just summon a Knight of Hell?”

“Get in.” Castiel said, tossing Abner the spare blade from the trunk, and pushing Ezekiel slightly towards the car.

“Why did you summon a Knight of Hell?” Abner cried, smart enough to at least pull open the back door of the car as Cas walked around to the front. “The Knights of Hell are all gone!”

“Not all of them.” Crowley said, pushing his way into the back seat before Abner.

*********************

There are several ways one can summon a Knight of Hell.

The first, of course, is the method used to summon specific Demons. It is like a nudge, a push on the shoulder. There are many different breeds and varieties of this form of summoning, all with varying degrees of power and sacrifice and the ability to ignore.

The second method involves the sacrifice of children, virgins or other innocents and will not be spoken of in polite company.

The last method, which Castiel used, was less a gentle nudge or suggestion and more like yanking the chain around a very, very angry lion’s neck and calling all that rage down to fight.

And Abaddon, of wrath and fire and conquest, couldn’t help but bite.

*********************

“Well?” Dean fidgeted. “Do you accept my terms, or not?”

Michael opened his mouth, but stopped, looking sharply away from Dean and towards the doors. Dean frowned and was about to say something when the smell of it hit him.

Sulfur, foul and burning, crashed into him like a wave. Michael stood up as an angel burst in the door, the sound of screams beginning to find their ways through to them.

“Michael, the demons—“

But Michael had already crossed the room and Dean hesitated only long enough to grab the contract off the table before following the Archangel, completely forgotten. Once he was out of the hall, Dean could see why.

The windows were completely black, like somebody had dropped a giant, black curtain over them and it took Dean a moment to realize it was demon smoke beyond the glass. There were Demons and Angels fighting in the lobby, on the street, and there was something about it that physically hurt to look at, the smell of ozone mixing with sulfur washing over him.

He saw red hair through the black smoke and white grace, standing sharply out like a rose in ashes, and he watched as Michael moved towards Abaddon and Dean’s vision began to spot out into white and Dean decided now was the time to make an exit.

Dean ran back down the hall, ignored by the Angels emerging from the building, running for the lobby, and looked around. He had figured out when he was brought in which side of the building the fire exit was, and it took him only a moment to find it.

He flew down the stairs, taking them two, three at a time, and although nobody seemed interested in stopping him, Dean was at a full run when he burst through the door at the bottom.

His baby was waiting for him, Abner standing by with a sword, ready to defend (and Dean could already see the burnt out body of a Demon on the cement) and Cas in the front seat and Dean didn’t even stop to question why Crowley was in the back seat besides Zeke, because Abner was already getting into the back seat and Dean pulled open the door and flew into the Impala as Cas gunned the engine and they sped away from the battle.

*********************

The demons descended on the angels like a swarm. What they don’t have in power, they make up for in sheer numbers. They had a Knight of Hell as their commander, they could consume anything before them.

What they had failed to account for was the Archangel on the other side.

The demons were routed in a panic, flying out and threw the city so fast, they shook the streets. The Knight of Hell only looked back once, her red hair flying behind her like flames, watching the sword of Heaven strike down the small army she had brought with her.

Though she escaped, Michael put the fear of Heaven into Abaddon.

*********************

Dean isn’t entirely sure where Cas learned to drive, let alone how he learned to drive like he was, but somehow Cas got them out of the city and it wasn’t until Dean couldn’t see the buildings of the city anymore before he let himself breath.

Then he took a look around the car.

“What the hell!?” Dean practically screamed and Cas swore, swerving hard and pulling the Impala off onto the side of the road, while another car blared its horn at them. “Cas, what the fuck!?”

“Dean—“

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Saving your pretty ass.” Crowley answered and Dean spun around to look at the Demon, really noticing him for the first time. Crowley waved, his handcuffs jingling as he did.

“I think I’m the one who should be asking what the hell this is.” Castiel said, his voice cold. Then he hit Dean, square in the jaw.

It didn’t hurt as much as it should have, Dean thought belatedly, but that didn’t stop his head from hitting the door, or for Cas to keep coming at him. Then Dean started swinging back and their fight spilled out of the car and onto the street.

Cas might not be an angel anymore, but it was clear he hadn’t lost any of his training when he had lost his grace, because it was far, far too easy for him to knock Dean flat on his back. Or maybe it was because Dean wasn’t really trying.

“You were going to say yes to Michael, weren’t you!?” Cas cried, pinning Dean to the asphalt, blue eyes furious as he bore his weight down on Dean’s chest.

“You summoned Abaddon!” Dean hurled his words at him like a fist.

“To stop you!”

“I was going to save Sam!” Dean cried and then, his voice dropping. “I was going to save you.”

Cas opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he hit Dean again and threw himself off of him. Dean felt the blood dripping down his face, but he only turned his head to stare at Cas, who had his back to Dean, fists clenching and unclenching.

“Maybe I don’t _want_ to be saved.” Cas spat finally.

Dean laughed, and it was a ragged sound. “What? You don't think you deserve to be saved?”

*********************

Michael spread his wings to their fullest extent, larger than the island, larger than the sky, and flew up over the city. He could see the burning buildings, the cars and lights and sirens blaring and echoing down the streets, the blackened husks of street and structure, the tears in the fabric of reality caused by the clashes of Heaven and Hell. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and time stopped.

They say that the Archangels helped God create the cosmos, that they had been granted the powers of Creation that had been the Father’s realm. That the Archangels could create from what was not, could make new realms and realities at their leisure and whim. That the only reason they have not is because God, the Father’s realms and realities are too beautiful and perfect to the point that nothing they could create would be even comparable.

(They say the only Archangel to create against the Fathers Will was the Morning Star, but they do not speak of such things)

Michael took a deep breath and with a sweep of his hand, stitched back together the tears, the bleeding cracks and scorched ripples of grace. He swept away the humans, the emergency vehicles, the screaming onlookers. Michael sang the metal and plaster and stone back into their places, breathed the trapped souls in the veil back into their bodies, wove together sinew and muscle where it had been cut and lulled the songs of sirens into silence.

He landed on the newly repaired ceiling (it was never gone in the first place,) and gently tucked his wings back in where they, too, belonged.

Michael exhaled and time picked up its pace, like nothing at all had happened.

*********************

Dean pressed the heels his hands to his eyes, leaning onto his knees.

The advantage to traveling with Abner and Zeke meant that Dean and Cas didn't have to stem their bloody noses and suffer their split lips, but Dean almost wanted the pain back.

 They were in some rest stop somewhere just shy of Ohio. After they had picked themselves up, all Dean wanted to do was put as many miles between himself and New York City as he could, a plan that Abner and Ezekiel looked immensely relieved at.

Then, there must have been some sort of disturbance in the force (or whatever the hell connects Angels and Demons with everything else) that everyone but Dean the flinch. Whatever bits of angel were still left in Cas were apparently not enough to deal with it and Cas had lost his lunch right there in the car.

Their angelic traveling companions were also great for clean up, so Dean couldn’t be too mad.

Dean heard the sound of approaching footsteps, but he didn’t bother to look up as Cas settled into the seat besides him, the plastic water bottle Dean had ordered him to drink crinkling in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, finally.

Dean shrugged, not quite ready to join the realm of the seeing.

“Did Michael smite the bitch?” Crowley asked, hopefully, still relegated in the backseat, since Dean didn’t have the energy to find a secluded enough place where nobody would notice him shoving the demon back into the trunk.

“I don’t think so.” Cas said, “I believe the demons would have retreated. They were not prepared to cross swords with Michael, but Michael was not expecting an attack. I suspect Abaddon and many of her forces escaped.”

“Joy.” Crowley snorted, leaning back into his seat and silence fell over the car. Abner and Zeke were probably still across the parking lot, circling each other like newly weds.

Then, quietly, Castiel said, “she will come for me soon, too.”

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean’s head snapped up, almost against his will as he turned to look at Cas. “Now you’re telling me that Abaddon is gunning for you too?”

“One more person and we can start a club. Get t-shirts.” said Crowley, helpfully.

Across the lot, the Angels seemed to notice another argument brooding and Abner started over, Zeke following like there was an invisible chain around his neck that was forcing him along, rather than his own will.

“I don’t see how it will matter much longer.” Cas responded, sharply.

Dean opened his mouth but suddenly there was a soft _ping_ from Dean’s pocket and Cas’ eyes grew wide and the color drained from Dean’s face. Slowly, he reached inside the pocket and drew his phone out, staring down at the screen announcing he had a text message from Sam.


	11. Wherein the Worlds Ugliest Sweater is Found and Worn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Lady of the Ugly Sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Goat Simulator Sam Winchester, Nicknames, and General Blasphemy.

Ava, in many ways, was average.

She had brown hair and blue eyes, exactly average height, and had the average secretarial job. She had an average childhood, average grades, an average home with standard IKEA furniture and an old blue VW Beetle that she loved since the moment she found it at the used car dealers lot. She had pretty average dreams; get married to the love of her life, have two, maybe three kids. A dog and a cat.

Apple pie Americana life, really.

But in many other ways, Ava was far from average. She had visions of the future. She had Demon blood pumping through her veins and she could control Demon’s with her mind. Ava had killed, explicitly or not, dozens of people while she had fought for her own survival in the demonic cage battle Yellow Eyes had set up. Ava’s been to Hell. She also was the earthly vessel of Lucifer.

All things being said, it couldn’t really get much worse.

*********************

Ava had been floating around some sort of strange dream space world since agreeing to say yes to Lucifer. She had found that she was able to manipulate it, however much she liked, and so currently was setting up shop in her own mental home, that was very much like her old home.

But it had been days, or maybe weeks, or who knew how long really, because time moved like a dream in this space, where Ava would sometimes skip hours or even days if she wanted to. And there was this sense of other that was present at all times, like the first pressure of a headache or vision, lingering on the edge, but Ava was too afraid to push against it out of fear.

She was getting fidgety, a strange cabin fever for reality and she was seriously considering pushing.

Ava paced her living room, uncertainly. She had been pacing for what felt like a long period of time, but how the hell was she supposed to know? Nowhere had Ava ever come across a _Satan for Dummies: An All Purpose Guide for When You’ve Been Agreed To Be Possessed By Lucifer_ book and it was unlikely she was ever going to find one, so it was guess work. “

This is stupid, Ava, really really really stupid.” She told herself firmly. “Just, go back to dreaming or something. Just…Don’t do it. Really, really don’t do it, Ava.”

She stopped pacing and bounced on the balls of her feet for another minute before giving in. She had always been terrible at listening to her own good advice, no matter what sort of trouble it got her into.  

Ava took a deep breath and looked around the room, wondering if she needed to find some lamb blood or draw a pentagram somewhere, but finally decided to just start with the simplest idea and work from there.

“Uh. O Dark Lord Satan who art…um, not in Hell, I humbly summon Thee to appear before me and uh…” Ava paused, thinking of what to say next. Although she wasn’t even entirely sure if she was asking it or thinking it. Who knew how this whole thing worked but it was weird enough as it was so she tried not to question it. “And, uh, reveal yourself to me?” She ended weakly.

“What is it Ava?” said a smooth voice from behind her.

Ava let out a surprised yelp and spun around quickly, turning to face well…Lucifer. He looked the same as the first dream, the same scruffy guy with dad jeans and blonde hair. He had his hands tucked in his pockets, slouching slightly in a way that was a carefully painted and arranged picture of casualness.

“Do you always look like that?” Ava asked once she let the initial startle fade away.

“Hm?” Lucifer looked down at himself then back at her. “Oh, you mean Nick here? No. I could look like someone else, if you preferred it. But my options are limited and I doubt you would have wanted to talk to me if I were Sam or you.”

“You can only look like your vessels?” Ava blinked slowly.

“It is the pleasanter option,” Lucifer shrugged, expression nonchalant. He didn’t elaborate but then again, Ava had been to Hell so she could imagine much more unpleasant things than blue-eyed, dad-jeaned Satan.

“How long’s it been?” Ava asked, fidgeting a little. “I mean, how long’ve we been back?”

“Five days.”

“That long, huh?” Ava muttered, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Time’s really weird here.”

Lucifer did not look very sympathetic.

“So uh…” Ava shifted again. “Do you think maybe I could…Tag in?”

“You want control?”

“That was the agreement, wasn’t it?”

Lucifer’s expression didn’t shift but somehow Ava just knew he was not happy about this. When he spoke, there was no malice in the tone but the entire place seemed to growl. “Fine.”

And suddenly, Ava was thrust out of her dream and back into reality.

*********************

It was like being pushed into a crack in a frozen lake.

That was the first sensation Ava got upon returning to her body, the experience was jarring enough as it was before she realized the sensation was not just in her head and that she wasn’t quite drowning in a freezing lake, but it wouldn’t be too far from what she was actually experiencing.

“Jesus tap-dancing Christ! Cold!” Ava cried, shivering and hugging her arms and wincing when her own hands were so cold on her flesh it did more to chill her than to help warm her up. Desperately she started looking around and found what appeared to be coat closet off to the side. She practically threw herself into it, only to find it almost completely empty, save for a few cardboard boxes shoved into the back and forgotten.

Ava stumbled over to the boxes, tearing into them, trying to find something—anything to warm her. The first box she opened had an immodest amount of crucifixes inside, which she only briefly swept across before ripping into the next box, and finding nothing but a few mummified spider carcasses and lint.

Then she noticed it.

A red sleeve, poking just out behind the box, like it had been accidentally trapped by the boxes and forgotten, but Ava was so relieved she nearly sobbed as she pulled out the ugliest sweater she had ever seen in her entire life.

It was an obnoxious Christmas sweater, made of red knitted wool and seamed with puff-ball tassels. The sweater seemed to believe multicolored fabric patchwork boxes created a quaint and quilted look, which it didn’t. And because the maker had wanted to remind everyone in the world that it was a Christmas themed sweater, had included as many Christmas memorabilia and imagery into the patchwork boxes as they could. There was a star, a candy cane, holly, a Christmas Bauble and—

A giant, golden Angel figure right in the center.

Ava nearly put the sweater back in the box, but she had already lost sensation in her hands and feet, and Ava decided warmth was more important than the world’s worst sweater.

Ava pulled it on and rubbed her arms through the sleeves to try and warm up. It was probably a little too big for her, but then again, it looked like it had probably been lumpy and oversized when it was brand new. The sweater seemed to do nothing at all, at least at first.

It was a strange sensation, like walking into a warm room from outside. Only the room itself seemed to be getting warmer by degrees instead of her.

Ava realized with a start that it wasn’t the room that was cold, so much as it was her. The cold was literally coming from her, and now the sweater had just trapped it inside. But the more she rubbed her arms, the more friction worked against the cold and slowly, but surely, Ava was getting warmer, so she continued to rub her arms and hug herself through the ugly ass sleeves.

Once she finally felt like she _wasn't_ freezing to death inside her own skin, Ava decided to look around a little more carefully. Outside of the coat closet, she appeared to be in the entrance hall of some sort of large, abandoned building.

She frowned, looking around for any signs that the building she was currently in was lived in but found absolutely nothing, unless you counted pigeons and rats as ‘lived in.’

“Lucifer, are you _squatting_?” She asked, incredulously before she realized that Lucifer was probably in his own headspace, or wherever the Angel had gone off to while she was in the drivers seat so to speak.

She wasn’t entirely certain what she was expecting but she wasn’t expecting a voice in her head to say, suddenly, _“What of it?”_

Ava jumped and had to stand in the room taking a few deep breaths before she wanted to even begin to analyze what had happened. It was very strange, hearing a voice that most definitely did not belong to you speaking in your head. And it was even weirder when she factored in that Lucifer didn’t sound all that different from her own inner-head voice. It was different, of course, but whatever illusions he put on in Ava’s dream-space-whatever were not quite the same when he was shotgun.

It was weird.

 Attempting to recover from the weird, Ava focused on looking around and tried her best not to think about what was really going on in her headspace. There were two sets of double doors, opposite each other from the entrance hall and Ava crossed over to one of them and tested the door. It opened with a menacing creek, revealing a large room beyond, dimly lit by large windows lining the wall. There were rows of benches stretching down the room and as Ava looked around the room, she let out a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re squatting in a church.”

_“I am.”_

“Why.” Ava said, and it wasn’t a question.

_“It is large, suitable for a meeting with my forces, it is roomy, it is off the main strip, the altar is perfect sacrifices and strategic planning, oh, and the atmosphere is lovely.”_

“Oh my god.” Ava groaned. “Really?”

_“No, I was just stopping by.”_

Ava got the distinct impression that Lucifer was playing with her, which, if she had to be honest, probably was not that far from the truth.

*********************

A little known fact is that Angels actually do enjoy jokes. Angel’s have a very active sense of humor and would spend quite a bit of their downtime in Heaven making and sharing jokes and laughing with their siblings.

Angelic jokes are based around the exploitation and manipulation of language, playing with the meaning and sound of different words but also the colloquial associations and dialects.

In layman's terms: Angelic humor is made up mostly of Puns.

Lucifer, always the outlier, has always found a strong appreciation for irony, cynicism and satire.

*********************

Ignoring the devil (which was really impossible when Ava felt his presence vibrating through the very core of her being, like her bones were an alien entity onto their own and only moved with her muscle and skin because they wanted to), Ava took a few tentative steps forward into the abandoned church before she noticed him.

There was a man laying at the front of the church, and even from this distance, Ava could see his bare back and—Ava clamped a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from making any noises, alarmed and quickly ducked behind the doorframe again.  

“Lucifer! There is a naked man on the floor!” Ava hissed, trying to keep her voice as low as she could. 

 _“He is not entirely nude,”_ Lucifer responded, sounding rather bored.

“Like that is supposed to help!? Why is there a naked man on the floor!?”

_“What, you don't recognize him?”_

Ava peeked around the door at the man. He had long brown hair and was facing away from her but he hadn't said anything since she had showed up so she crept closer. But not before picking up one of the heavier looking crucifixes from the box and holding it like a bat, just in case the man woke up and was dangerous. As she drew nearer, a sinking sense of dread set in and Ava already seemed to know who it was before she even got a glimpse at his face.

“Sam Winchester.” She breathed. Then she backed away quickly, gripping her makeshift bat tighter.

_“If you wanted to have your way with him, I wouldn’t mind. You can even kill him a few times, I’ll bring him back.”_

Lucifer startled a laugh out of Ava and she shook her head. Ava really didn't hold any grudges against Sam. Sure, she had tried to kill him, and in some ways she had blamed him for all of the crap that happened to her since she had that terrible vision and decided that somehow it was a good idea to warn the man she had seen dying in her dreams of his impending doom.

Sam must have been just as caught in this entire mess as she had been. And, when she really thought about it, it was inevitable that she would have ended up in Cold Oak, really.

So while she would like to say she wanted to sock him in his stupid, square jaw, she knew it was really not his fault in the end.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…No.” Ava said, then added, “But why is Sam Winchester naked on the floor?”

 _“Would you rather he be on the wall?”_ Lucifer asked and Ava nearly laughed again but then her own arm raised against her will. Cold spread down from her shoulder to her fingers, like someone had replaced her bones with ice and suddenly Sam’s body was flung back onto the wall and slowly dragged upwards until he was splayed against the wall behind the altar, arms out in a mockery of Jesus in the section of wall where the Crucifix had once hung and still remained outlined against the sun-bleached paint.

Ava cried out, putting her free hand on her other arm, trying to tug it back down and into behaving accordingly with her brain but Lucifer kept it raised. “Stop it!” Ava cried. “It’s my time, remember! Mine! Let go of my arm!”

She felt a flare of emotion that was most definitely not connected to her and she couldn’t even begin to dissect it when Lucifer hummed a noise that was probably something closer to a huff of annoyance before the cold core sunk away and she was back in control of her own limbs. Sam fell to the ground with an ugly thunk and Ava winced at the sound. That had to hurt.

Ava began rubbing the arm, trying to warm it back up and glaring at the wall because she didn’t exactly have anything physical to glare at. Then she glanced at Sam again.

 _“You’re right,”_ Lucifer said, suddenly. _“Sam looks much better on the floor. He lends himself wonderfully to being walked all over.”_

Ava winced slightly and looked him over a little more careful.

He hadn’t woken up, even after being flung against the wall, although he had let out grunts of pain when it happened and he appeared to be out cold completely, but still breathing. Sam looked slightly better than when she had first met him. His hair was certainly better. He looked older, but the age did him well.

Ava hadn’t really expected to see him though. She hadn’t expected to see anyone she knew at all. She had been in Hell for a really long time, or at least, thats what she had thought. But maybe not.

“Uh, Lucifer—Can I call you Luci?” He didn't say anything so she figured that wasn’t a no. “Luci, what year is it, exactly?”

_“It is 2013, by human calendar.”_

“Oh.” Ava said, anxiety jumping into her voice. Six years dead, that was it? “Oh.”

Well, that explained some things.

It still didn't explain why Lucifer had Sam Winchester stripped and tied down on the floor of a church. Or why Lucifer seemed to have such beef with him.

Ava rationally realized that Sam probably didn’t deserve to be tortured by Lucifer, or whatever else Lucifer was planning to do to him. He had been a nice guy, and although she had thought he was crazy at the time, Sam was also one of the most rational people she had known. He had also seemed to genuinely want to help people.

Ava knew all this, yet for some reason she wasn’t jumping to get Sam and get him out of Lucifer's clutches. Maybe it was because of the tentative position she stood in the way of things (after all, Lucifer was kind of inside her, so that changed what she could and couldn't do, for fairly obvious reasons), or maybe it was because she knew, on some level, that freeing Sam Winchester was not her job. Her role in this (whatever this is) was something very different.

Whatever the reason was, Ava didn’t free Sam, instead she tiptoed carefully around him and explored the rest of the church.

*********************

Sam came to slowly, but he didn’t move, didn’t even open his eyes. His time in Hell had taught him, stay still, stay quiet, stay ignored. So instead, he listened. He could hear the sound of someone moving around behind him, footsteps on a wooden floor and something heavy being moved.

Then he heard a loud crash and squeal of alarm. He had opened his eyes and glanced over before he could really stop himself, and found himself staring at the oddest image.

Lucifer was standing on top of one of the church pews, wearing a truly hideous christmas sweater, hands thrown up in alarm, as a mouse scampered by the pew she stood on, a knocked over pile of furniture nearby.

Sam blinked a few moments. “…Ava?” he croaked.

She started and then slowly lowered her hands, looking at him and swallowing.

“Oh. Uh, hey Sam.”

“How did you—” Sam tried to push himself up, ignoring his protesting limbs. Because whether it was Lucifer or Ava, she was still his enemy, but Sam at least stood a chance against Ava. Unless, of course, she still had her demon-controlling power, in which case, Sam stood a significantly less chance against her, but anything was better than an Archangel.

Ava seemed to read his mind because she raised her hands again, this time in a placating gesture. “I’m not here to fight you, Sam.” She said. “I just want to make that clear, okay? Whatever Luci does to you, I have nothing to do with that and—“

“Wait,” Sam interrupted, staring at her. “What?”

Ava frowned a little. “What?”

“Lucifer.” Sam said, flatly. “You're a vessel.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.” Ava shifted a little.

Sam had suspected it, of course. That all of the Special Children were really vessels for Lucifer, but when it came down to it, it had just been him, hadn’t it? Except now it wasn’t.

Sam shook his head and sighed. “I don’t get it Ava. You were a nice girl.”

Ava frowned, stepping down from the church pew. “I am _still_ a nice girl.”

“Really? ‘Cause you sort of killed a bunch of innocent people and, oh, are playing Vessel to freaking Lucifer!”

Ava took a few steps towards Sam, frowning and if Sam weren’t already leaning heavily against the altar to keep himself upright, he might’ve backed up into it when she jammed a finger at his chest. “Listen, Sam. I did what I had to to survive. Because for five months, it wasn’t long before one of the others figured out our jobs there. I didn’t _want_ to kill them, I _had_ to.” She took a deep breath. “It was them or me, and all I wanted to do was survive. And I went to _Hell_ , Sam.”

“Yeah, well, so have I.” Sam said, darkly.

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Sam turned his glare back to Ava. “Tossing Lucifer in with me.”

Ava blinked a lot. “Luci?”

“Stop calling him that.” Sam groaned. “Don’t give Satan a pet name.”

“Well he is kinda inside me, so I should be able to call him whatever I want.” She said then paused. “Oh, wow I can’t believe I just said that.”

Sam actually rolled his eyes.

“Shut up.” Ava said, frowning.

Sam’s curiosity piqued. It was a nasty habit he really, _really_ should stop, but he couldn’t help himself from asking, “How did you take back control, anyway?”

“Huh?” Ava blinked at him for a moment. “Oh! Luci is still here, he’s just…Well, I’m in the drivers seat so to speak but he’s still here, but I guess he is actually in my head because he’s telling me that you can’t hear him, which is probably a good thing because he is making a lot of really rude comments and wow, actually now I think I am starting to get why he dislikes you so much. And I should probably stop talking because I’m rambling.”

Sam stared at her and Ava shifted nervously.

“I set conditions, okay?”

“And he actually followed through?” Sam breathed, astonished.

Ava’s eyes flashed grace-blue and she looked up at Sam, her expression that gentle, unearthly serene and sincere softness.

“Sam, I told you before.” Lucifer said, eyes locking with Sam’s. “I will never lie to you, or trick you. Same goes for little Ava. I keep my promises.”

Sam’s jaw tightened and his knuckles were white where they gripped the altar.

“Speaking of promises…” Lucifer dropped his gaze from Sam and pulled Sam’s phone from his pocket, pulling it open and typing in a text message. “We have an appointment with Dean to keep, don’t we?”


	12. Wherein A Cramped And Uncomfortable Roadtrip Occurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Feelings_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Narrative Potty Mouth and Enough Angst to Drown Artax in the Swamp of Sadness

Lucifer had texted a combination of five numbers and Dean knew enough as a Hunter to know coordinates when he saw them. They pointed just outside of some small town in the middle of buttock nowhere, Oregon, and alongside the text, Lucifer had added a little _See you in two days!_ and a winking emote.

“We can drop you outside of Sommerset if you want,” Dean offered to Abner, who hesitated.

 “I should go back—“ He started by then he glanced over at Ezekiel and another silent, private boyfriend moment passed between them that Dean _really didn’t_ want to think about too much and he sighed. “I’ll help see this through, at least as far as Ezekiel is concerned.”

“Great.” Dean said, folding up the map.

“Wait a minute!” Crowley cried, leaning forward. “We had a deal, Dean.”

 “Michael didn’t go through.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!”

Dean looked at Crowley, his expression dangerous. “I told you I would let you go free once the deal was signed. No signature, no freedom.”

“I doubt he’ll be of any use against Lucifer.” Castiel grumbled, leaning heavily against the door.

“You can’t just let him go.” Abner frowned. “He’s the King of Hell.” Of all the Angels Dean had to pick up, it had to be the one with the weirdly human moral compass.

“The Sigil was no good.” Dean said, turning away from the passengers and staring out towards the road, where Sam was waiting. “We’ve got to come up with something else, cause Cas isn’t a bargaining chip.”

“I’m not a bargaining chip either, Winchester!” Crowley snapped, but nobody was paying attention to him.

“Dean," Castiel presses his hand to Dean’s arm and it doesn’t mean anything if Dean’s hand found its way on top of Cas’, because Dean kept his eyes in front of him and his other hand gripping the steering wheel.

“You stay in the car, Cas. You hear me?” Dean said, keeping his voice and eyes level. “You stay in the car and if you need to, you drive baby outta there, because I’ll never forgive you if you let Lucifer smash her again. Do you understand Castiel?”

The car fell silent, and for a moment, even Crowley decided not to interrupt.

“Of course.” Castiel lied.

Dean nodded once and then started the engine.

*********************

It is an undeniable fact of the universe that Castiel would do anything for the two Winchester brothers.

It is an absolute fact, like the song of the universe vibrating through the core of existence or that nobody should trust an Angel named Metatron. It just is. So, even when faced with pain, torture and ultimately, death, Castiel would gladly give whatever he could for those two boys.

Castiel closed his eyes, feeling the vibration of the car, the familiar engine and nodded to himself. He was going to die, and he was going to die soon. He couldn’t die without regrets, of course, but it was okay. Dean and Sam’ll solve it, Castiel knew. He was always just an accessory to them anyway. They’ll save the day, like they always do, with or without him.

Belatedly, Castiel realized he’d never had a chance to really experience humanity, like Sam had promised he would.

*********************

The road trip was cramped and uncomfortable, but at least Dean and Cas had the front seats to themselves, and the non-humans were stuck cramped together. Dean did not feel at all guilty about stretching out his legs as he drove.

Dean booked it across the country, breaking speed limits and actually made it to the edge of Nebraska.

But Dean and Cas were forced to stop for the night, Dean too exhausted to keep going and Cas still unable to figure out his human body’s sleep requirements to drive. Neither of them were all that excited to switch places with one of the two angels, because that would require being seated next to Crowley, they decided to pull into an hourly motel and catch a few hours of sleep before continuing on the road.

Dean was not sleep deprived enough to forget about gagging Crowley with a scrap of cotton and duck tape, shoving the King of Hell into the trunk. Cas eyed the trunk a little nervously and Dean couldn’t exactly blame him. After everything that had happened to them, the little reliable truths like the effectiveness of a Devil’s Trap or Lucifer’s Cage working had been quite shaken.

“Hey, God Squad.” Dean said, looking at Ezekiel and Abner, who had been loitering near the ugly potted plants by the lobby. Ezekiel obediently crossed over to Dean, while Abner sighed and dragged himself along, looking none-too-pleased. “You guys don’t sleep, right?” Ezekiel nodded while Abner opened his mouth to argue, so Dean quickly smiled. “Great. You guys guard Crowley while Cas and I get some shut eye.”

Ezekiel actually blanched, paling. Dean was momentarily thrown because he had never seen an Angel do _that_ before. Abner, always ready to spring to his boyfriends defense, his hand already laying on Ezekiel's shoulder, started to speak but Ezekiel beat him to it.

“You can trust me to guard the Demon Crowley.” Ezekiel said, his voice tight. “Nothing will get in or out of the trunk under my watch, sir.”

Dean blinked a little, then scrubbed his hand over his face. “Freakin’ angels,” he muttered to himself darkly then gestured vaguely at them. “Fine, whatever. Have fun with that.” He said, then stalked over towards the motel room, dragging an equally befuddled Cas behind him.

Ezekiel planted himself carefully in front of the Impala’s trunk, staring out and around, as if at any moment, an army of enemies might leap out of the bushes nearby to attack the Impala.

Abner leaned against the trunk, watching the other side, although not as carefully. “I can watch it, y’know.” Abner said after a long stretch of silence. “Nobody’d blame you for not wanting to—“

“No.” Ezekiel said firmly, shaking his head. “Dean Winchester trusts me to guard this Demon. I won’t…I won’t let him down.”

“Gadreel—“

 “Please don’t call me that, here.”

Abner stared at him across the trunk, crossing his legs at the ankles, his hands relaxed at his sides. “Why Ezekiel?”

The other angel shifted uncomfortably. “They say he is a good and honorable Angel.”

Abner tilted his head slightly, watching him and him only.

“Everything I am not.”

“That is not true.” Abner said, his voice low.

Ezekiel, or Gadreel, kept his eyes on the surroundings, but his expression looked tortured.

“Lying to Dean and Castiel is probably going to do you no more favors, either.” Abner pointed out. “But I suppose…this is our second chance. A chance to start over, remake ourselves into whomever or whatever we want to be.”

 “Dean Winchester trusts me,” Gadreel said, very quietly. “I…I failed him once already and he trusts me.”  

Abner reached across the car and touched his hand. Gadreel started a little, and then looked down at their overlapping fingers, for the first time looking away from his careful guard, before returning to his watch.

“You understand why I can’t…Why I can’t let him down again.” He continued. “I don’t want to let anyone down, ever again, Abner.”

Abner squeezed their hands lightly. “What do you want to do, then?”

“I want to do good.” He answered, easily. Then he hesitated a little. “I…I want to serve Heaven, again.”

“…What?” Abner pulled away from the car, standing up to look at him. “Why? Why would you, you of all Angels want to serve Heaven again?! After what Heaven did to you?”

It was Gadreel’s turn to turn to Abner, his expression soft. “Tell me, dear Abner, what are angels to do, if not to serve Heaven?”

“Have their own lives, for one.”

“Freedom is not for us, brother.” Gadreel said, gently, gesturing to the car and the motel, but meaning a whole lot more than just the metal and run down concrete. “We were never meant to understand it.”

“You wouldn’t cage a bird.”

“Angels are not birds,” Gadreel frowned a little.

 “I know that, but…It is a metaphor.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No. Abner, you don’t understand. A bird has the sky, it was made to fly. Father gave birds freedom. Lucifer…Lucifer gave mankind what they were made for but that Father hadn’t given them. He gave them choice. Free will. And…they took it, those small, simple, fleeting human beings. They took their own Freedom where no other creature had. In that way, they were made for it.”

“Gadreel…”

“This is not our place.” He said, finally, turning back to the area, ever the watchful guard. “We were made to guard.”

Abner fell silent and stared away, his jaw clenched. They stayed that way until the sky was beginning to get ashen and grey and the sun crept over the horizon. When Dean emerged from the motel room, dragging a sleepy Cas behind him, they were unmoving from their watchful positions.

“Dean,” Ezekiel said, straightening up when he approached. Abner leaned away from the car, standing up and stretching. “

Come on, we’ve still got a ways to go.” Dean said, pushing Cas towards the front door and pulling open the trunk, hauling Crowley out.

“Oh thank god!” Crowley cried, as soon as Dean ripped off the gag. “They’ve been talking about their _feelings_ all night! I’ve never been so simultaneously bored and tormented before in my life.”

“Better you than me,” was all Dean said as he manhandled Crowley into the backseat again.

********************* 

It was a church.

It was old and clearly abandoned, most of the white washed walls turned grey, or else chipped away entirely. The windows were all gone, although Dean could see the light from the setting sun catching broken bits of glass around the church, sparkling and reflecting back at them. Half buried in the tall grass, a broken sign had only ‘Rev 12:7’ left.

Dean might’ve laughed, if it wasn’t Lucifer inside, with Sam. Fucking Angels and their fucking dramatics.

When he finally turned off the car, in front of the silent wooden structure, Dean sat back for a minute, running his hand over the familiar dash before stepping out of the car, motioning to Zeke and Abner.

Nobody talked as they exited the car, with the sun hanging low in the sky, ready to sink down below the horizon at any moment. Dean took a deep breath to check the supplies they had gathered before arriving, feeling the weight of the angel blades in his pocket, his gun, the holy oil.

Then he forced himself to look away from the church and turned to Cas, who stood besides him, blue eyes steadily meeting his with almost impossible calm.

“Well, this is it.” Dean said, taking a deep breath and then cracked a slight smile. “Gimme a kiss for good luck?”

As expected, the joke was completely missed.

What wasn't expected was for Cas to grab ahold of his jacket and press his lips softly to Dean’s. His lips parted slightly, and Dean felt his warmth against his lips and for a moment, wanted nothing more than to push back and feel more.

Then Cas stepped back, looking up at him with those blue eyes and blinking.

“Oh.” He said, staring. “That felt…good.” Like it was a foreign concept to him, like physical sensation was all new. It probably was, at least to him.

“Yeah,” Dean choked out, “Yeah, kissing generally does.”

“I am glad I tried it.” Cas said, quietly. “I wish that I could do that again.”

Then he turned and walked towards the church, leaving Dean by the car.


	13. Wherein An Unlikely Hero Emerges

Dean faltered for a long moment, mouth open and gaping like a fish out of water. Usually he was smoother than this, quicker on the uptake, better at the recovery. But usually he wasn’t just _kissed by his best friend out of fucking nowhere_ , so give him a freaking break already.

Once Dean’s brain caught up with the rest of him, he sprinted forward, into the church.

Behind him, Dean hear Crowley swear loudly, but he really didn't pay any attention. Cas was inside and god, Dean was trash, absolute trash, because he knew this was coming and he was letting it happen.

Cas had stopped and Dean nearly barreled into him, but stopped just besides him instead.

The church was lit by candles, spread throughout the pews, giving the church and eerie golden glow in the fading light.

Dean’s eyes found Sam immediately, tied up on the altar like a sacrifice.

“Sam!” Dean cried, nearly dropping everything to run across the dusty wooden floor to his brother, but then he noticed the figure perched on the altar besides his brother. Even though it was a new meatsuit, Dean knew immediately it was Lucifer. There was some way that the devil carried himself, the air around him, that made him impressive.

Or maybe it was because Dean recognized the meat he was wearing.

“Hello, Dean.” Lucifer said, smiling slightly and hoping off of the altar. “Hello, Castiel. It has been a while.”

“Lucifer.” Cas said, stiffly.

“That’s Ava.” Dean said, flatly. “You’re wearing Ava Wilson.”

“That is correct.” Lucifer inclined his head slightly, gently. Lucifer loved to seem as cool as a cucumber but Dean knew better. He had seen the facade crack and had been on the receiving end of the fury lurking behind it. “Bringing a bit more than we bargained for, aren’t we?”

Lucifer gestured with his hand and the doors to the church opened sharply, revealing the three figures standing by the car.

Crowley scrambled to get either between the two angels or behind them, Dean couldn’t really tell, and Ezekiel froze. Abner, however, pushed forward, placing himself in front of Zeke, putting himself between Lucifer’s gaze and his boyfriend, and if Dean could see them, he would’ve put money on Abner’s wings all flung open and flared out.

“Hello, brother.” Lucifer said, mildly, looking Abner over. Then his eyes flicked up to Ezekiel and everything got a lot scarier. “I thought you were more of a coward than this.” Lucifer said, voice calm, and somehow that was all the more terrifying, “I am surprised you showed your face here, when you knew I would kill you.”

“Never.” Abner snarled.

“Enough.” Cas’ voice cut through the air and Lucifer’s eyes left Zeke for Cas, which was somehow worse.

“You will release Sam Winchester.” Castiel said, stepping forward “And I will go to you. Dean and Sam and their companions leave here unharmed.”

“Cas—“ Dean hissed, but he went unheeded.

“That was the deal, wasn’t it?” Cas stressed, his blue eyes locked with the Archangel.

Lucifer raised his hand, fingers poised to snap when suddenly the entire area shook and Crowley swore loudly as the burning scent of sulfur hit them, and pushed past the Angels, because Satan or no Satan, the more loud, distracting punching bags around, the better. His two guards followed quickly after him, just as the swirling cloud of demon smoke descended.

Abaddon strolled into the church through the demon smoke, a smirk on her lips, twirling an angel blade. Abaddon hadn’t taken any chances this time, and even Dean could tell she was _pissed_. "Well, what do we have--" Abaddon caught sight of Lucifer and suddenly the smile was gone from her lips.

Dean couldn't help but relish in the look on Abaddon’s face as she stared down the Devil, but the satisfaction of her surprised terror only lasted a moment before Dean realized how completely and utterly fucked they were.

“Abaddon," Lucifer said, his voice mild. "How nice of you to join us."

*********************

Abaddon used to be an Angel.

All of the Knights of Hell used to be Angels, actually. Angels who had followed Lucifer out of Heaven, joined the War under their burning commander. Only a handful survived, really. Then, Lucifer got his mind set on Demons, and soon he was enlisting Cain to help him create his ultimate warriors.

The Knights were powerful, intelligent and ruthless. And they were very much Demons. Lucifer had been somewhat disappointed, because as it turns out, Demons are Demons, regardless of what the starting material may have been.

So yes, Abaddon had once been an Angel.

She couldn’t remember, of course. It was truly the rare Demon that could remember their life before they became a Demon, and Abaddon was not among them. She couldn’t remember Heaven, or looking upon Lucifer’s true visage or that she had once been a favorite of Michael’s.

She does remember fighting for Lucifer. She remembers the struggle, the fight, the taste of burning Grace on her tongue. She remembers the chaos, glorious chaos, and she remembers how it felt to truly be alive. She remembers Hell when it was fresh and new and burning.

She remembered when Michael came down from the sky. She remembered when Lucifer fell.

If Abaddon had any faith or loyalty, she lost it all that day.

*********************

"Lucifer." She breathed. "I thought you were dead."

"It's surprising how often people think that." Lucifer's voice had a cold edge to it that hit every primeval nerve in Deans body.

Dean reached besides him, instinctively grabbing ahold of the nearest thing to him, which just so happened to be Cas' arm. And crap, even Cas was freaked cause he was grabbing Deans hand and gripping tight.

This was bad. This was really, really bad.

Crowley, however, watched the scene as a zen-like calm descended over the Demon. Because, through his work at the crossroads, he knew how to pick up subtle social cues—evidence of weaknesses, stresses, conflicts and brewing confrontations. And there was nothing subtle about the workplace tension between the two powerful beings in front of him.

And hey, he was dead anyways. May as well have one last bit of fun, so Crowley casually tossed out, “I really must say, Abaddon, pet. That ambush on Michael’s little nest was quite impressive. My compliments.” Crowley smiled. “I saw you fighting him, you must’ve bloodied him up pretty badly that he let you win the day.”

Abaddon turned sharply to Crowley, but her pride was too much even for her. She radiated it, and Lucifer’s hand twitched at his side.

“You did what?” Lucifer asked, his voice dangerously low.

Abaddon turned back to Lucifer, her mouth opening but Crowley beat her to the punch.

“She attacked Michael’s base of operations. It was so brilliantly planned, really, that I had thought for sure that she was acting on your orders.”

“Crowley.” Lucifer said, sharply, but his eyes remained trained on Abaddon.

“Oh yes, by all means, punish me, Lucifer.” Crowley said, quickly. “Abaddon is clearly the much better Queen of Hell, here. What with her leading the opposition against Azazel to keep your feathery ass where it belonged in the Cage. And then there was that whole smear campaign against you that was absolutely—Oh.” Crowley raised his eyebrows, looking almost like he was truly surprised. “I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned those ones…”

Lucifer stood up, pushing away from the altar as Abaddon tightened her grip on the angel blade in her hand.

“I suppose I also shouldn’t mention how it was Abaddon who forced Cain’s hand, getting him to slaughter the rest of the Knights of Hell. I suppose she didn’t want the competition.”

Dean almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Crowley was accusing Abaddon like she was his sister and Lucifer was a disapproving parent looking for some child to punish. Which, technically speaking, was true on most accounts.

“He is injured!” Sam cried out, seizing the opportunity. “His arm, it—“

Lucifer started forward and Abaddon raised her blade.

Dean realized the moment his vision started whiting out and the smell of burning ozone stung his nose what was happening and he reached for Cas, pulling him down into the church pews, forcing Cas’ head into the dusty floor.

There is noise, Dean can hear it, like the wind gained a voice, and there may have been Enochian mixed up in there, but he couldn’t make it out. He glanced up from the dust, daring to raise his eyes only far enough to see the bottom of the aisle and no higher, looking for a route to the door that wouldn’t have them fried to Hell and back again the instant they were out of cover.  

Abaddon was shouting something, her voice shrill against Lucifer’s, when Dean realized that they were too far away from the doors, too far away from any exit, and his eyes locked with Cas’ blue ones and suddenly Dean was reaching forward, moving to close the gap in their bodies.

Then someone slammed him back into the leather seat of the Impala and Dean let out a startled cry. Something rammed itself next to him, a solid dead-weight body and Dean turned, staring at a shocked Cas and Sam, all squished together in the front seat, on top of each other and looking all equally parts confused and alarmed.

“Sam—“

“DRIVE!” Crowley screamed from the back seat, practically standing between the two completely shocked Angels, “DRIVE, YOU IDIOT! GET US THE BLOODY HELL OUT OF HERE!”

Dean dropped his moment of silent shock for starting up the car and speeding away from the old church so fast that the blast of light and wind behind them only jarred the Impala’s six passengers and Dean pushed his baby harder, ignoring her groans of protest as they broke onto the open road, skidding as she turned.

There was a lot of noise but Dean couldn’t hear, only flooring the gas, taking them as far away from the hell storm behind them as he possibly could.

*********************

Abaddon was wrath and fire, in a way that was almost familiar. After all, she had once been Michael’s favorite, in Heaven, and if Lucifer ignored the taste of hell and sulfur, it was like fighting Michael again. The Cage didn’t burn, but Michael did and Lucifer felt alive.

He could have smote her, could have ended her in a second, but there was more of a thrill in the fight, in wading in and crossing blades and will.

It was more a dance than a fight, Abaddon could match his force with a fierceness of her own, and Lucifer could taste her pride, her anger, ripe with hubris. The angel blades sounded like chimes, like music. Wings, Grace, smoke, fire, the thrill of the fight. This game Lucifer knew he would win but he could dance close enough to the edge that it almost felt like he could.

Abaddon cut across his ribs, Lucifer threw her through one of the walls that was still standing., flinging her into a tree and to the ground. She was already sitting up as he walked through the ruins of the church. That mania had returned, and Lucifer threw her down to the ground again, smiling.

“I hated you, always.” Lucifer breathed, relishing the fire. “The way he looked at you, it should’ve belonged to _me_ only.”

He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her up meeting her stubborn eyes and the twisted true face that only abstractly resembled something angelic.

“It’s over.” He gathered his grace but Abaddon smiled. She stabbed his side with her blade, where he was still injured, where Gadreel’s spell had mangled his Grace and Lucifer gasped. It wasn’t a fatal wound and Abaddon’s blade was only a common Angel blade. But it was enough, Lucifer’s wings snapping open and Abaddon pushed forward, knocking him back.

“Not yet.” Abaddon said, knee on his chest, as Lucifer’s expression twisted with hatred. Abaddon raised her blades and drove it right through Lucifer’s wings.

*********************

Dean would never say it, never breathe a word against his Baby, but Sam would, and often, too. Sam would have said “ _Dude, the fuel economy sucks,_ ” or “ _Dean, you get like 8 miles to the gallon, how can you not see what a gas guzzling monstrosity the Impala is,_ ” or a thousand other varieties of the same statements.

And Dean was not, absolutely not disappointed in his baby when he pulled into a gas station to fill her up only a state away from the abandoned church they had fled. He was not panicking either, as he ran around the car and started filling her up, begging the pump to to go faster somehow.

It was only when he was standing up, stretching his legs fully that he realized how cramped and crowded the car was. The Impala, which at times felt like it could barely contain Sam and Dean, was simply not meant to carry six fully grown adult men. But despite the cramped conditions, nobody wanted to get out of the car.

Dean was just topping the gas off when, from the east where they had come, something lit up the sky, like the sun had suddenly appeared on the horizon only an hour after it had set, and a couple of minutes later, there was an explosion of sound that shook the ground and rattled the windows of the gas station and Dean quickly put the pump back on its hook and practically jumped over the front of the car to get back inside and pull onto the road as people pulled over to the side or went out to stare bewilderedly towards the source.

“Aren’t you glad I saved your human backsides?” Crowley snapped as Dean started the Impala and pulled her out onto the highway, Sam staring out the rear window, his eyes wide.

“That was Lucifer screaming.” Abner muttered, looking very pale and shaken. “What would cause Lucifer to scream?”

“A Knight of Hell, that’s what.” Crowley leaned forward, so his head was pressed between Sam and Dean’s, “Now I suggest we hurry on back to that hideaway of yours and _bury our heads in the sand_.”

Dean looked over at Sam, pale and uncertain, and at Cas, who looked like the entire weight of the world had just fallen on his head and nodded. They could regroup and reorganize, come up with a new plan of action and…And figure something out.

“Yeah.” Dean said finally, “Yeah lets do that,” and turned the Impala towards home.


	14. Wherein There Is A Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Property Damage the Fanfiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Injury, Schmoop, Cuddling, Lucifer’s gross misogynistic potty mouth, Panic attacks, and Abner snaps

All told, the destruction was astronomical. Lucifer alone took out most of the humans who lived in the area, including a small city. The survivors had their eyes burned out, stumbling around, unable to fully comprehend what had happened to them.

Abaddon burned a crater on the map and left Lucifer pinned like a goddamn insect.

When Lucifer pulled the angel blades out of his wings, his burning grace crackling and dripping onto the ground, changing the laws of physics and reality with each impact, Lucifer let out a second cry, not out of pain but out of anger. This one rippled through the sky, like lightening, and then Lucifer fell to his knees, the pain overwhelming him.

He couldn’t stand, couldn’t fly, could barely focus above the pain. This was like Hell all over again, only somehow it was worse. It was real here. If Lucifer dies here, that’s it: Game over, do not insert another coin, do not pass go.

“Mîkhā’ēl,” Lucifer gasped, grasp on language slipping, his voice rising up to Heaven or God or whoever the hell was listening to him anymore and then fell backwards into darkness.

*********************

Lucifer woke up in a warmly lit room, soft cream walls with a small, inoffensive floral pattern worked into the paper. He was laid out on his stomach on a soft mattress, and for a moment he couldn’t feel anything.

Then he tried to raise his head and pain shot through him, not just his vessel, but through his grace and Lucifer bit down so hard he drew blood to keep from screaming.

“Don’t move.” Came a voice from behind him and Michael hurried around the bed into his line of sight.

Michael had gotten a haircut, or at least, his vessel had. His hair was swept off his forehead, parted at the side in a way that was actually quite fetching for him. He also was wearing a soft blue button up and black cardigan, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that would also be fetching if Michael were less of a stiff about the way he wore things. Lucifer fought the urge to reach up and snap a few of the buttons off his stupid shirt, just to spite him.

“You’re awake.” Michael said, and there was a quiet astonishment but also a touch of relief. Or Lucifer could have been reading into it, because when it came to Michael, emotions were an alien substance with no real impact on him.

“I’m awake. What are you wearing?”

Michael glanced down at himself as if only now remembering he was still occupying a vessel and did indeed, wear clothing and then shrugged. “Bartholomew said I could not walk around looking like a child if I was going to take Heaven.” He said evenly.

“Bartholomew?”

“He was the leader of a fraction of Angels that had gathered since the—“ Michael cut off suddenly, as if just now remembering that Lucifer was the Advisory, and not just his little brother. “What happened to you?” He demanded finally, deflecting.

For a long moment Lucifer stared at him blankly, trying to recall what it was that had happened before he had woken up in this room with Michael. When it came back to him, Lucifer snapped up, and the pain returned in full force, his wings thrashing wildly and a scream in his true voice ripping its way out of his vessels throat.

Michael’s fingers twisted into Lucifer’s hair as the writhing ceased, back still arched in the air as grace and blood spilled to the ground, ruining the sheets, the carpet, the decor. His forehead pressed against the mattress, clutching the sheets and just breathed heavy and hard while Michael’s fingers worked a gentle circle at the the base of his head.

They stood at a dangerous position, one misplaced step could destroy them right here and right now. Michael knew this, Lucifer realized this, neither of them said it.

“Don’t move.” Michael commanded again. “I’ll help you get healed up.”

*********************

Nobody dared to mess with the Morning Star.  
  
Not while he was all bright and burning and terror and beauty all at once. Not while he burned so low and so cold he could freeze the world with a look. Not while he was open and laughing and just to stand in his presence was as wondrous as standing in Father’s love and glory.  
  
Nobody dared to challenge him, to ruffle his feathers, to dig in the same way they would to any other brother.  
  
Nobody, but for Michael.

*********************

Grace has a way of bending reality in ways not thought possible. Split Grace can liquify glass and keep it liquid and boiling without any heat, can poke through the fabric of space and other such casualties. It also ruins the decor and stains the sheets.

They were not getting the deposit back on the room, that’s for sure.

Lucifer was swearing loudly in both Angelic and Demonic Enochian (which was really a bastardized dialect of Enochian that could only really be birthed through the fire of Hell) as Michael calmly removed shards of glass and wood from his vessel’s back.

“Argh!” Lucifer cried finally, abandoning the language of the Host and Pit since they were not quite as colorful as what he wanted. “I am going to flay that bitch!”

“Stop squirming.” Was all Michael said, having sat through all of Lucifer’s ranting and screaming without so much as a flinch.

“No really,” Lucifer continued as if Michael hadn’t spoken. “I am going to shank her lying, skank ass! With a bloody fork! A fucking pitchfork!”

“Poetic.” Michael said dryly.

“It fucking will be once I’ve set into her!”

The last of the glass shards made a little clink in the metal bowl besides Lucifer but Michael did one last sweeping search of his brothers back before nodding satisfied.

“You can heal up now.” He said then shuffled over to the other end of the bed where Lucifer’s wing was splayed out across the mattress.

“I just don’t fucking get it.” Lucifer muttered as the wounds disappeared, leaving no sign that they had ever been there in the first place. “Sure, Hell has always been a mess but this time? This time it has really gone to hell.”

Michael cast Lucifer a flat look but Lucifer was not going to let up on his current rant now that he had switched to a tongue that properly expressed what he wanted.

“As if that rat Crowley becoming King wasn’t bad enough—not to mention what he did to the place! It reeks of _humanity_ down there, and I am not talking about the smell of their flesh. He brought bureaucracy to Hell for Father’s sake!” Lucifer gestured maddeningly. “But now Abaddon, a fucking knight of Hell—MY fucking Knight of Hell—has grown a fucking ego all of the sudden and turned traitor! Between her and Crowley, I honestly wouldn’t be fucking surprised if Demon’s started organizing into fucking labor unions or some other sort of human shi—“

The rant was cut off sharply by a wordless cry of pain when Michael brushed against one of his wings. The cry quickly turned into a hiss of breath as if Lucifer could physically suck it back into his lungs and Michael cast a glance over. But at least Lucifer had gone quiet, still laying on his stomach.

His arms were still pillowed under his head but now he was staring hard at the wall opposite, jaw clenched tight from the lines in his neck.

“If you think Hell is a mess,” Michael said lowly, slow enough that it might even pass for comforting, “then you should see Heaven.”

That was when all the fiery rage dissolved. No, dissolved is the wrong word. Froze. It froze into something darker, deeper and much, much more deadly. The whole temperature of the room dropped by degrees.

“No, I suppose your right.” Lucifer said coldly.

Michael sat on the bed, staring at his brother for a long moment, fingers still ghosting over his injured wing. Michael was still for a moment and then he moved around the bed and lay down besides Lucifer.

Lucifer almost blinked in surprise, but then Michael extended his arms, and slowly, Lucifer inched closer to him. Michael laid one hand on the back of Lucifer’s head, the other reaching across to his wing, making gentle circle movements with his fingers as he fixed the bent and broken feathers, edging away from the terrible holes still rent through his grace.

Michael had wrapped around Lucifer like a shield, and Lucifer was curled tightly against his big brother. He had closed his eyes although he wasn’t sleeping, just resting against Michael, while Michael stared across the bed at the wall.

“Do you remember your creation?” Michael asked suddenly.

Lucifer snorted a little against his chest. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

Lucifer fell silent, the mirth dropping away. He didn’t move, not even a flutter of eyelashes.

“You were light separated from darkness. The first morning.” Michael continued, voice even and calm. “You smiled and were so beautiful it hurt to look at you.”

“Look at how far I’ve come.” Lucifer sighed but there was no energy to his words when he spoke them.

“You still are beautiful.” Michael said, one of his arms reaching up and cupping Lucifers head. Finally Lucifer opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. “That’s one of the hardest parts of this.”

“Good.” Was all Lucifer said, before pushing his head down again, breaking eye contact and returning to his nestled position against Michael’s chest.

It didn’t get warmer, but it didn’t exactly get colder. It just stayed and was still, except for the little movements of Michael’s careful fingers and the slow rise and fall of breath that wasn’t theirs.

“I can’t heal this,” Michael said, finally. “Raphael could, but I can’t.”

“I don’t need you to heal me.” Lucifer said.

“Yet, here we are.”

Lucifer shoved him roughly, off the bed, off of him and tried to sit up, wings quivering. It was more than physical, his Grace itself was injured. His vessel was perfectly intact, but Lucifer? Lucifer was in pieces. This wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last, but it hurt no matter.

“Fuck you Michael,” Lucifer snapped. “Fuck you and fuck off. I don’t need you now, I didn’t need you then and I’ll never need you.”

Michael looked up at him from the ground where he had toppled, silent and unmoving as a stone. Lucifer forced himself up, standing and, unable to summon the power needed to materialize clothing, simply picked up the clothes he had been wearing before—now repaired and clean, of course—and pulled them on. He crossed the room, reached for the door and…  

“You can stay, if you wish.” Michael said, slowly, from behind him. Lucifer had his hand on the door and Michael had to go and ruin it, ruin everything like always. “You can’t go out there like this.”

Lucifer hates him, he hates him so much.

“Demon’s will devour anything at the first sign of weakness.” Michael said.

 _Yeah_ , Lucifer wanted to bite out, _I got that. I got two holes in my wings because of that. So take your lecture and shove it up your own celestial ass._ But of course, Lucifer didn’t actually say any of that, he just stood frozen at the door, his hand on the knob.

“Abaddon is not allowed to kill you.” Michael let the _only I am_ go unsaid.

Lucifer’s hand dropped off the doorknob and he didn’t say a word, just crossed away from the door and flung himself across the couch, purposefully away from Michael and closed his eyes to keep from looking at anything.

*********************

They were a couple of hours from Lebanon when the adrenaline ran out and Sam lost it. He crumpled in half, shaking like a leaf and unable to breath, wanting to scream but feeling choked and mute.

“Sam? Sam?!” Dean asked, panic rising in his voice as he looked over at his brother. “Sammy!”

Dean pulled the car to a stop so quickly it jolted the other passengers and was already pulling open the passenger door by the time they recovered from the sudden stop. Dean was on his knees, one hand gripping Sam’s knee, the other firmly on his back.

“Come on Sammy, don’t do this to me!” Dean cried, and gripped Sam close. “Sam—“

Sam leaned into Deans touch, trying to fight the panic, fisting his eyes and tried to breathe. Once Dean realized what was happening, he was quick to force down his own panic and focus on calming down his baby brother, rubbing a calming circle on Sam’s back, the other finding Sam’s neck and lowering his head so that he was forehead-to-forehead with Dean.

“Dean, Lucifer—he—“ Sam started, but another hand on his shoulder cut him off.

“You are safe now, Sam Winchester.” said one of the angels. Sam looked up at him and he smiled sagely, his presence, combined with Dean’s efforts an effective balm.

“No he isn’t!” Crowley complained from the back seat, breaking the calm. “Not until we get back to the Bunker and bury our heads in the sand!”

“Shut up, Crowley.” Dean growled, fiercely. Then he turned back to Sam. “But Sammy, I need to know. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Sam shook his head, gulping at air.

“Zeke? Abner?” Dean looked from the angel still in the backseat to the one standing besides them. “The trials—“

Suddenly, Sam’s head snapped up and he pushed Dean’s arms away sharply. “The trials…I was dying from them, wasn’t I?” He demanded, anger rising up where panic had been only moment before.

“I—Sam, this isn’t the time—“

“No, Dean!” Sam cried, suddenly up and out of the car and Dean was up too. “Lucifer said I was possessed when he found me. Possessed by an Angel!”

“Wait, what?” Crowley leaned forward, intrigued against his better instincts.

“You’d believe what _Lucifer_ would say?” Dean said, but he was backing up, shrinking against the wrath of his brother who didn’t give him an inch.

“He wouldn’t lie about something like that! He—there was something on my soul, he said it was put there by an Angel!”

“Alright, okay!” Dean snapped. “Yeah, you were possessed by an Angel. The Trials messed you up something bad and you were dying and I couldn’t—“ Dean cut off, shaking his head. “I had to save you, and Ezekiel over there said he could heal you from the inside.”

“I didn’t say yes, how did—“ Sam stopped. “Ezekiel?”

“I tricked you, okay?!” Dean said, balling his fists up. “But I had to, Sam, I—“

“Lucifer said the Angel’s name was Gadreel.” Sam interrupted, frowning and looking back towards the car where Ezekiel looked very much like he wanted to melt into the upholstery, or at least to hide inside his hoodie.  

“Gadreel?” Dean echoed.

“Oh yeah, he was keeping his real name from you.” Crowley piped up helpfully. “Abner too, he knew.”

“Zeke?” Dean turned his gaze to him, frowning.

“I—“ The Angel started but then there was a scream of rage and Castiel was hurling himself at the Angel, hands wrapping around his throat, surprising even Crowley. Cas went flying as Abner was suddenly at his friends side, hand extended and pointed at Cas, sprawled out on the pavement.

“Abner,” he said, pulling Abner’s arm down quickly.

“Gadreel, if you won’t defend yourself, then I will.” Abner snapped.

“It’s him!” Cas cried, already sitting up, his Angel blade in his fist. “He’s Lucifer’s ally! He started it all! Gadreel was the one who let Lucifer into the Garden!”

“What?” Dean gasped as Sam’s eyes widened.

“That’s not true.” Gadreel said, standing stiff, his expression blank. “I was tricked, I never—“

“He lies!” Cas snarled.

“You handed my brother over to Lucifer!” Dean cried, suddenly, drawing the Angel Blade from his belt. “You son ova—“

“Gadreel protected Sam!” Abner cried. “He’s been working with you this entire time!” “Like hell that’s what he’s been doing!”

“Abner, please—“ Gadreel said, pain creeping into his voice for the first time, the blank defiance gone and suddenly he was open and wounded and begging.

“Dean, wait—“ Sam said, putting a hand out for his brother. “Lucifer did seem pretty damn furious about Gadreel, and—“

“Gadreel protected your body and soul from Lucifer, Sam.” Abner pushed.

“Don’t trust them.” Cas growled.

“Are you kidding me?!”

“They deserve the truth, Abner.” Gadreel put his hand on Abner’s chest, rearranging himself into the blank calm that was the Angelic standard and turned back to the three humans. “Sam, I did possess you, after using Dean to trick consent out of you.”

“You let Lucifer into the Garden of Eden.” Sam said, flatly.

“I…I did.” Gadreel said.

“So you are working for him, then?!” Dean said and then Abner roughly shoved off Gadreel’s hand.

“Gadreel was tricked! Are you trying to tell me none of you trusted someone and had something very bad happen because of it?!” Abner snapped, then shook his head, “No, don’t even start to answer that because I _know_ that you, Sam Winchester,” he pointed an accusing finger Sam’s way, “Have most definitely trusted a _demon_ which lead you astray and released Lucifer the first time around. And you,” Abner spun on Cas, “you expect us to trust that you were tricked and betrayed by Metatron but cannot accept that somebody else would experience the same thing? That maybe a _fucking Archangel_ might have more sway and influence and trust than some snob nosed scribe who hasn’t been heard from in decades?!”

“Hey—“ Dean started but Abner now turned the full extent of his glare onto him.

“And you, Dean. You are the luckiest son of a bitch there is because you trusted Gadreel to save your brother when you had no idea who he was. You could have gotten your brother, or Castiel, or yourself, or him killed by your recklessness and selfishness, but you didn’t because believe it or not, _Gadreel is a fucking good angel_. One of the only ones left, it seems. And I’ll be _damned_ if I let one of you hypocrites judge him on his past mistakes.”

Abner took a deep breath, looking between the three of them. “As if Gadreel’s help in this entire thing, despite all the danger it puts him in, wasn’t enough evidence then I’d swear on the Holiest of Holy, Our Lord and Father that neither of us are working with Lucifer.”

There was a long silence, as they all stared at each other and the car idled in the street. A few deer stopped grazing alongside the dark road and stared at the strange group, flicking their ears a few times and then returned to eating.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness…” Gadreel said, very quietly in the stillness. “But I want Lucifer gone as much as you do. I can be helpful.”

“You’re going to need all the help you can get.” Abner added.

Dean glanced at Sam and Cas. Cas was looking very much like he had just been punched in the gut, staring at Gadreel with a contrite expression, while Sam looked hesitantly torn, looking towards Dean.

“I just…want this to be over.” Gadreel breathed.

“Yeah,” Sam said, sucking in a breath. “So do we.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
>  Thanks for sticking around this long! Gosh, I never thought I’d make it.
> 
> Unfortunately, Girl’s Just Want To Have An Apocalypse is going on (the only planned) Hiatus! 
> 
> Sorry guys, I kind of knew this was coming going into it…But fear not! There is an end in sights: Updates will continue on **May 31st!**
> 
> Thank you all reading, commenting, kudosing, subscribing, and viewing! You guys seriously keep me going on a daily basis! See you guys in May!
> 
> (If you are curious as to why we are going on Hiatus, feel free to skedaddle over [here](http://courtofdolls.tumblr.com/tagged/tya-travels) to hear about my zany life adventures. Or not. It’s your life, do what you want with it!)
> 
> Also, while I will not have steady access to internet or computer, I will probably be lurking around on Tumblr or AO3, so feel free to drop me an ask or a comment!


	15. Wherein Ava Gains Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Besties with the Devil!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Girly Things, Shopping, Fashion, Bonding time.

Ava was brought to the surface without any warning, blinking and confused. It took her a few minutes to realize she was even there, but she felt the scratch of the uncomfortable and ugly Christmas sweater and realized she had no idea where she was.

“Luci?” She asked the silent room and received no answer.

She did not panic. Ava was just very calmly, very carefully checking herself over to see if the Archangel was there or not. Ava was also most definitely not relieved when she found the gentle hum of…something…hiding deep inside her, like a current tugging at the edges of her brain. It was quiet, unlike the roar it had been last time she went poking around, and Ava could almost liken it to being asleep.

That would make sense actually, given that she was laying on a couch.

She sat up slowly, feeling like maybe her body should ache, but it didn’t. It was an odd feeling, feeling like you were hurt yet moving completely fine, with no hinderance. Ava had a couple dozen questions for Lucifer when he woke up, starting with that one.

At least she wasn’t in an abandoned old church anymore. In fact, it seemed Lucifer had gone from squatting to penthouse luxury in…well, however long it had been. At least he was moving up in the world.

She stood up and walked over to the balcony, pulling open the glass door and stepping out into the mild night, the edges of pre-dawn chill kept at bay by the incoming summer heat and stared at the city below. It was a mosaic of light and for a moment, Ava could see every humming light and more, like someone had given her super vision in her sleep and even the details of the sidewalk below were visible to her at this height, and somehow she could even see beyond that, as if that was not trippy enough.

Ava pushed away from the balcony, not even wanting to risk the chance of tipping over and closed her eyes, trying to fight back the nausea. Then she made the mistake of looking up.

The sky was bright, almost blinding, but it wasn’t like it was during the day—no, the sky was alight with starlight and holy crap, Ava had no idea there were so many stars in the universe, and yet, here they all were, staring down at her.

Then she blinked a few times and the sky was just normal, night sky and in the light of the city, she could barely see even the brighter of stars.

Ava was seeing through the cracks, she realized. Literally seeing the world through Lucifer’s eyes and dear God, was it awesome. Awesome in the archaic sense. Biblical even. If she let her eyes focus, she could see the interconnection of the Heavens, how the universe fit together and her little human brain could hardly comprehend it.

It was thrilling.

Ava focused, bringing more of the world (if you could call it that) into focus, grinning. It was power running through her veins and she stretched with these forces, like flexing a muscle she hadn’t known her body possessed, like how she had when she had first started commanding her powers, and she could reach out and touch the core of these powers.

When she did, this ringing erupted in her ears, a tone so loud and high that Ava let out a shocked gasp and her hands flew to her ears and she felt a stirring inside her bones, like Lucifer was shifting in his sleep.

She held her breath, withdrawing from the other sensation as much as she could and waited for the vibrations to settle and then let it out slowly. Instead of exploring inwards, she decided to chance the outside again and walked over to the window, staring down the heights at the street below.

There were a few humans, walking the streets now. Ava could see their souls. They were beautiful, and Ava settled down to watch them for what felt like a very long time, watching the souls spin and glow and hum alongside the tone of ever-present noise that became louder and louder the more she concentrated on the Angel-eye-view.

Down on the streets, somebody exited the building she was staying in, and although there was a soul in this person, like in every person, there was something different about it and Ava frowned a little, trying to focus while keeping the ear-splitting white-noise at bay.

There was something else to this person, something wrapping him all wrong, spread out across his limbs and pushing against the binds of his form like a water balloon filled to breaking point. Just as the figure disappeared into a taxi, Ava saw it.

The barest shimmer of air over his back, a ripple of something that was not supposed to be there and Ava realized with a gasp what she had seen just as it was gone inside the taxi and pulling out into the street.

Ava scrambled and stood up, walking into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror, or rather, stared at the space over her shoulders. She could see them there, but only the barest hint of their presence. The little impression, and Ava tried to focus hard on their form, pushing and trying to reveal them.

The tone was loud now, much louder than it had gotten before, but Ava tried to ignore it, and she could almost see them: white, fractal, infinite, burning, oh god they burned like—

 _“Don’t do that.”_ Lucifer said and suddenly Ava’s double vision was gone.

 Ava blinked back spots in her eyes, breathing for a minute, suddenly aware of how her body was shaking and how there were tears on her cheeks. She snatched a tissue from its container on the counter and quickly dried her face. “What the hell was that?”

 _“I think I should be asking you that.”_ Lucifer responded, his voice cold.

“Those were my wings.” Ava said, astonished. “I almost saw my wings.”

“My _wings.”_

“Our wings”

Lucifer huffed, a vibration in her bones and Ava cleared her throat. "So, wanna explain just what the hell is going on?"

_"I thought you wished for time to control your own body."_

"Well, yeah but a little heads up next time would be great. And why didn't you answer me?"

 _"I have more important things to do with my time than eavesdrop on you."_ Lucifer responded tartly. Ava greatly suspected that he was pouting but she had more pressing concerns.

“Where is Sam?”

Lucifer’s biting silence was all that met her and Ava could feel his rage seeping through her and quickly fought back the urge to swing at something and quickly searches for a change of subject as fast as she could.

She found one in the mirror, red, gaudy and as ugly as ever.

“Why are you still wearing this?” Ava asked, gesturing in disgust at the sweater, still on her body and a lot less helpful now.

_“You said you wanted to choose our outfit for the Apocalypse.”_

“This is not my choice outfit for the Apocalypse, Luci!” Ava frowned then rubbed her temples at the headache that had been building there. “And unless I missed the apocalypse while I was out, it won't be." She paused a moment and Lucifer didn't say anything so she frowned again, head pounding. “I didn’t miss the apocalypse, did I?”

_“No.”_

“Good.” Ava pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing them a little. “But this sweater…It was destroyed, wasn’t it? Why’d you have to repair it?” How did she know that?

 _“Who said I repaired it for you?”_ Lucifer snapped and Ava was getting the feeling Lucifer the kind of person who woke up cranky, regardless of when he woke up.

“You are not wearing this any more.” Ava said, pulling the scratchy, terrible thing over her head and tossing it onto the ground. “You are Satan, maybe you should dress the part!”

_“I do not understand.”_

“Satan doesn’t go around wearing ugly christmas sweaters.”

_“But I do.”_

Ava resisted the urge to slap her hands over her face. “Look, you wouldn’t show up to your big battle with Michael with your feathers all ruffled and without a meatsuit, right?” There was a twinge of annoyance from Lucifer that she could almost tell was leading up to a long lecture so instead she barreled on ahead, “Same thing goes with your clothes. You dress to impress.”

_“Impress who?”_

“Uh, well…the World I guess. Heaven, Hell, Earth. Everyone.”

_“I am an Archangel, my presence alone is enough to impress—“_

“Not in an ugly christmas sweater it isn’t, let me tell you.” Ava interrupted. “Look, just trust me. We’ll go shopping, get you some decent world-conquering outfits and then you’ll see. Okay?”

_“I don’t have much of a say in this, do I?”_

“No, you don’t.”

Lucifer sighed heavily. _“Fine.”_ He said, _“do what you want, but I do not have to participate.”_

"Fine." Ava responded, probably snappier than she should have been but she is technically riding bitch in her own body for the end of the world, so excuse her for being a little snippy. She realized, belatedly that she didn't have her purse, and a quick pat down of her pockets revealed them to be empty. And she was pretty certain that just to the store clerks and telling them to give her all of their clothes because she was Satan isn't an option.

"Well," she said, scrambling for something to save face with. "Since your the one ending the world, you ought to be the one to foot the bill."

_"Fine."_

“So,” Ava took a breath, “What’s your budget?”

_“Budget?”_

“…The amount of money you can spend.”

_“Money?”_

Ava sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay,” She said after a moment, “you got this nice room, right? How did you pay for that?”

 _“Oh.”_ Lucifer paused. _“I can get that, if you allow me.”_

“Yeah, sure…” Ava said and almost immediately regretted it as a terrible flood of cold filled her and she tried to shiver or move or something but she was frozen right where she stood. Then her own mouth opened and her voice came out but it was not her speaking and that was just so wrong, Ava was regretting this entire idea.

“Michael,” Lucifer said, something happened that Ava’s fragile human mind couldn't comprehend and then Michael stood before them.

 _“Woah,”_ said Ava, although it didn’t come out of her mouth. Lucifer was not so impressed.

“I want money.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Money…?” Michael frowned a little.

“You told me to stay here, so the least you can do is provide entertainment. I want money.”

Michael frowned deeper, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, which Lucifer snatched out of his hands before he could even open it. Michael looked back up at Lucifer as Lucifer slid the wallet into his own pocket.

There was a prolonged silence before Michael huffed a slight breath that seemed rather exasperated before he was gone again and Lucifer slipped back and Ava could move her limbs again.

“See, Michael got a make-over and do you see how much better he looks?” Ava said once she could speak again. Lucifer made a vague hum and Ava pulled the wallet out, opening it to see what they had scored. “I think we can go to a few—where are we by the way?”

_“New York City.”_

“Oh. Okay.” Ava looked down at the wallet again.

It shouldn’t be too hard to find some clothes or, god, a couple changes of underwear in the largest city in the United States, right? Certainly something that wasn’t the ugliest Christmas sweater known to mankind at least.

She put the wallet in her pocket and did one last circle in the living room as Lucifer settled into more of a slight buzzing in her bones than the usual rumble that he was before. Ava couldn’t exactly find a room key, but she was the Devil, or the Devil’s vessel, so it shouldn’t be too hard for her to get back into the room without it. Then, she made her way down to the elevator and punched the button for the lobby.

“Okay, so.” Ava drew in a deep breath, watching the floor numbers drop rapidly and trying to pretend like she wasn’t talking to an empty elevator. “I think you ought to get me up-to-speed on everything. I mean, isn’t Michael supposed to be your enemy or something?”

 _“He_ is _my enemy.”_ Lucifer said, firmly.

“But you’re staying in his hotel room?”

The silence that followed was positively frigid.

“I’d like to know what I signed myself up for.” Ava said, trying to sound reasonable while talking to the devil in her head. “And if you aren’t going to participate in shopping with me, you may as well make yourself useful and fill me in. I’m better at double-tasking than you’d think.”

Ava was prepared for Lucifer to dismiss the matter as none of her business, or simply stay silent, but he did nothing of the sort. _“If you wish. In the Beginning…”_

She nearly cut in to ask him for the cliff-notes versions of the story, but then the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open and she bit her tongue to keep from talking to herself like a crazy person. Ava could have sworn Lucifer laughed at her, but she couldn’t tell.

*********************

Ava ended up knowing quite a bit about Angelic History by the time she finished buying herself a change of clothes and a proper sweater.

She learned about Heaven and the creation of Mankind, Lucifer’s objections to them (and a great deal of his opinions on Humanity, which she found to be beyond offensive and biased), and then she learned about the War in Heaven and the Fall (capital F Fall, Lucifer insisted. His Fall. The only Fall that mattered.)

She also learned about the first Apocalypse, how Sam had tricked him and how he has been locked away with Michael this entire time, fighting him. Ava also learned, briefly, what Lucifer knew of current events—the civil war, Leviathan (Lucifer hated them almost more than he hated humanity, but there was a touch of fear when he spoke about them that Ava courteously pretended not to notice), the fall (of all Angels, but not worthy of a capital letter in Lucifer’s opinion), and a whole lot about an Angel named Castiel.

She was walking down fifth avenue by the time Lucifer reached the most current events, that mainly being Castiel (again) and the Winchesters.

_“And Abaddon, a Knight of Hell which I personally select—You should try on that dress, Ava.”_

“What?” Ava stopped short, caught by the sudden change in conversation.

_“That dress. In the window, there. You should try it on.”_

Ava turned slowly and stared at the window that she had only barely glanced at the first time. Okay, the dress definitely warranted a second look because it was pretty gorgeous. It was white, with a gold belt and necklace, and it looked like something one of the Gods-of-Old or an Angel might’ve worn on their day off in Heaven.

 _“Angel’s don’t look like that.”_ Lucifer commented dryly. _“In Heaven, or otherwise. I thought you would’ve figured this out by now.”_

“Shut up.” Ava whispered, staring up at the dress.

Ava wasn't, well she hadn't been, a fashionista or even a particularly fashionable person when she was alive before. Sure, she enjoyed shopping and tried her best to make outfits work, and she had of course, shopped for the perfect wedding dress but all of that was fairly mundane, normal people sorts of things to do. Hell, her last condition was set mainly over the fear that Lucifer would simply end the world _while she was naked._

But okay, this dress was certainly one to wear if you were going to end the world. Or get married, but Ava was trying very, very hard not to think about that. End of the world dress.

"Okay." She said, slowly. "Sure, let's check it out."

After making her way into the store and a little bit of searching for the right dress and size, Ava finally slipped the dress on and gave a little gasp as she viewed herself in the mirror. She looked positively celestial, and Ava slowly inspected herself from a different angle in the mirror, enraptured. It was a pretty fitting dress for the Morning Star, as Lucifer insisted he was.

 _“We should get this one.”_ Lucifer said, as Ava twisted experimentally, watching the way the fabric flowed around her body. _“I like this one very much.”_

“I thought you weren’t interested in our wardrobe choices.” Ava said, smugly, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard. Lucifer immediately fell into the kind of silence that he seemed to think was meaningful but that she was quickly getting the impression was rather like a pout.

“But…Okay, it is pretty great.” Ava admitted, finally and felt Lucifer’s smug satisfaction from inside. “Let’s see how much this beauty is…” After a little bit of flailing while she tried to find the tag, Ava took a deep breath and then stared at the tag. Blinked slowly and stared at it again. “Oh my god.”

_“What?”_

“Oh my god.”

 _“What?”_ Lucifer repeated, in that flat and genuine way that someone who honestly did not understand would.

“We can’t get this dress, Luci! Do you see how much it costs?!”

_“So?”_

“So!?” Ava cried, then quickly caught herself and lowered her voice. “So? Luci, this costs more than my wedding dress and bridesmaids dresses…Combined!”

 _“So?”_ Lucifer repeated, meaningfully. Ava stared at her own reflection and then slowly remembered the wallet sitting in her newly purchased Prada purse. _“There you go, girl.”_ Lucifer said, smugly. _“Michael’s money, remember.”_

Ava laughed, uncertainly.

 _“Besides,”_ Lucifer added, _“What is the worst that can happen?”_

“Yeah, you’re right Luci.” Ava said, slowly, smiling slightly. She was fairly certain her place in Hell was pretty much assured, since she had gone there what she had done, and now she was playing Host to Lucifer, undoubtedly making the situation a million times worse. Spending Heaven’s money hardly seemed like that big of a sin when it came down to it, anyways. “I’m damned as it is, right? May as well go all out.”

 _"It's not every day that the Apocalypse comes, now is it?"_ Lucifer agreed, happily.

Ava grinned at herself in the reflection and somehow knew that she was also grinning at Lucifer. "Let's spend Heavens money, then."

_"Let's get more than one dress."_

*********************

Lucifer, despite his earlier threat to not be interested at all, quickly became invested in the shopping process. By the time they had hit the third store, Lucifer was a constant voice in the back of Ava’s head, telling her which dress to try on and then of course, arguing about the fit or look.

Already, Ava had spent more money on clothes than she had ever spent on anything, period. And boy, did lucifer have expensive tastes. The dress she was currently eyeing on his behalf was well over a thousand dollars.

_“I want it in white.”_

Ava frowned. “Okay, the last five dresses you wanted us to look at were white.”

_“I like white.”_

“How about we try for something more colorful.” Ava said, tapping her finger to her chin thoughtfully. “What kind of colors do you like to wear?”

_“Blue.”_

“Blue.” Ava repeated slowly. “Really?”

_“What’s wrong with blue?”_

“I dunno it just seems kinda….peaceful.”

 _“I like blue. I like how it sings.”_ Lucifer insisted.

“Okay, sure.” Ava figured it was easier not to fight it. “Do you like any other colors?”

_“I like gold.”_

“Gold is good.” Ava smiled. “Anything else?”

Lucifer was quiet for a long moment. “ _No…No that’s just about it.”_

Ava frowned slightly. “But what about black? Or red? Or any color that would suggest in the slightest that you are the devil.”

_“You humans assume too much. I do not—“_

“I know that, Luci!” The shop clerk gave Ava a look from across the store and Ava cast her a smile then quickly dropped her voice so she couldn't be heard. “Never mind.”

Ava got the distinct impression that Lucifer was rolling his eyes at her, and she ignored him as she picked up a black dress from the shelf and quickly made her way into the changing room, ignoring his pouting silence.

*********************

Ava let herself fall onto the plush bed with a satisfied sigh. She had maxed out all but one of Michael’s credit cards in the day and spent more money in one day than she had even thought possible to spend.

“Oh my god,” she moaned, laughter escaping her lips and it was not without its touch of mania. “Michael is gonna kill us.”

 _“Not if we kill him first.”_ Lucifer said and Ava buried her head in the comforter.

“Okay, yknow what.” Ava pushed herself up after a minute, crawling over to the bedside table and checking the hotel information pamphlet. “We’re having ourselves a day at the spa.”

_"Why?"_

"Because I could use a massage and a bath and quite frankly,” Ava grinned slightly.”I think we deserve it.”


	16. Wherein Break Ups are Discussed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Dean and Sam’s Potty Mouths get a workout, Emotional Bullshit, Alcohol Consumption, Violence to Inanimate objects.

Castiel had fallen sullen and silent, crammed between Sam and Dean in the front seat, since the back was full of angels and demons and Sam always belonged in the shotgun, just like Dean always belonged at the wheel. So Cas sat between them with a deep frown clouding his features and his arms tucked against his body.

Every so often, he would glance into the rear view window at one of the Angels in the backseat and his frown would grow darker.

Meanwhile, Sam had fallen asleep, squished up against the window. Whether it was from his ordeal or the emotional toll, Sam was exhausted and only silently accepted the water bottle Dean shoved into his hands the moment he found a gas station to stop at.

After that, the rest of the ride was mostly silent, Cas squished between Sam and Dean with his hands shifting in his lap like he wasn't sure what to do with them and Sam dozing or else staring out the window, while Dean drove.

When Dean finally stopped, it was a little outside of Salina. He parked the car in a mostly empty lot and stood up, stretching his stiff and aching joints. Running a hand gratefully over her metal frame and checking the damage out in full, but the Impala had been through worse and was only banged up. Nothing he couldn't fix.

On the other side of the car, Abner and Sam were climbing out, looking groggily around them.

"Alright, Crowley, end of the line." Dean said, slapping the top of the car and looking in at the demon inside.

Crowley frowned up at him. "I beg your pardon, what?!"

"I know you got those cuffs off, now get out."

"I saved your lives! I'm a bloody hero here!" Crowley snapped, "Don't you think I've proved I deserve to be part of your little club here?!"

Sam and Dean both gave Crowley a very pointed look from either side of the impala and Crowley grudgingly got out of the car, glaring between them.

"Fine." He said, smoothing out his suit. "I'd be safer on my own anyway,"

And then he was gone.

"Fucking demons," Dean grumbled to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Dean turned to look at Gadreel and Abner and scratches the back of his head and then cleared his throat. "Look, I know that neither of you really asked for this, and if you wanted to bail..."

Gadreel opened his mouth and then closed it again, and finally said, "I have no where else to go than with you." He glanced at Abner when he said that, but ultimately turned back to Sam, Dean and Cas.

"I.." Abner hesitated, like it caused him a great deal of pain, and then sighed, "I can't go back to where I was. If Lucifer doesn't come after me, Michael will. I...I can't."

"We are yours," Gadreel said, expression almost similar to an awkward smile.

Cas, who had been leaning against the car the entire time moved finally, going to stand in front of Gadreel, who drew himself up, like he was expecting another blow.

"Thank you." Cas said, a little stiffly, as if he were just as surprised and confused about the words he was speaking as Gadreel looked to be hearing them.

Dean waited for Cas to elaborate but he didn't, and Gadreel was flailing for a moment, unsure or unable to properly respond. Then again, from what it sounded like, Gadreel hadn't had a good word said to him since Adam and Eve, so it made a little bit of sense why he was having such a hard time grasping the concept.

Finally, he choked out, “It…it wasn't all bad, don’t you see?"

Cas frowned a little, mouth scrunched up but he nodded and Gadreel breathed a sigh of relief. Then Cas turned on his heel and returned to the car.

Dean looked from Sam to Abner and saw that he was not the only person who looked completely lost, and then sighed. "Well, get in if your going.”

*********************

The rest of the drive was a blur of road and white noise from the radio. Everybody seemed content to let the silence be, each of the Impala’s passengers more concerned with their own thoughts.

 Of course, once they got back to the bunker, that was when all hell broke loose.

Dean had barely pushed his way inside after locking up his baby and grabbing the extra bags of supplies he had thrown in, before Sam had turned on him, jaw tight and angry.

“So?” Sam demanded, even his voice taut and cold, barely contained wrath hovering just below the surface.

Dean looked at him for a long, calculated moment before setting down the bags on the floor and throwing his keys on the table. The room was empty besides Sam, meaning Cas, Kevin and the Angels had already fled for higher ground.

“So?” He repeated, finally.

“You tricked me.” Sam said, his voice flat and cold, his words stinging like a wound. “You tricked me into being _possessed by an angel._ ”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice sounded hollow and detached to his own ears. “I did it to save you.”

“To save me.” Sam repeated.

“Yeah.” Dean said, his voice growing stronger because yknow what? Dean was right. He would make the same choice again, and again and again, because Sam was standing right there and was alive and okay and nothing else mattered.

“I chose to die, Dean. I didn’t ask you to save me!” Sam snapped. 

“You didn’t ask me to save you from Lucifer, but I still did, didn’t I? Because that’s what we do, we look after each other!”

“ _Lucifer_ wouldn’t be a problem if you had let me finish the trials!”

“Lucifer is my fault now?” Dean growled, then flung open his arms. “Okay, fine, Sammy. Tell me, what else is my fault? Go ahead, lay it on me! What else did I do to you? Or, since we’re at it, why don’t we talk about how the only reason you’re here right now is because of what I have done for you! I’ve been the one making the tough decisions around here because dying? Dying is fucking easy, isn’t it Sammy?”

“It was my choice!” Sam cried, rearing up. “Mine! And I didn’t have to trick or manipulate or force anyone into agreeing to it!”

“Bullshit!”

“You’re no better than Lucifer!”

Dean started forward, fists clenched knuckle-white, but before he could get within swinging distance, there was a hand on his chest keeping him back and Cas was between him and Sam, looking between the two of them.

“Dean.” Cas said, his voice rough and weary, and of course the shouting would have brought him out. He looked away from Dean and turned to Sam. “Sam. Please, stop this.”

“Cas…” Dean choked out, dropping his fists and staring at him, throat tight. But Cas’ arrival seemed to only add to the fire in Sam.

“You were going to give Cas up to Lucifer, weren’t you?” Sam’s eyes were hard and Dean almost flinched away. “Lucifer says ‘bring me Cas’ and you ask if he’d prefer him on a gold or silver platter?! After everything Cas has done for us, and you just—“

“It’s not like that, Sam.” Cas tried, but Dean shook his head, pushing Cas away from him.

“No, Cas, Sam’s right. Sam knows everything, doesn’t he?”

“If Abaddon hadn’t shown up when she did, Cas would’ve been with Lucifer right now. Face it, the only reason Cas is here is because you got fucking lucky, Dean.”

Dean gritted his teeth but Sam wasn’t finished.

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do to keep me alive?” Sam demanded, hands balling into fists. “When is the price going to be too much? When the world is burning because you couldn’t let me go!?”

“It’s my job to take care of you, Sam!” Dean cried. “As long as you and I are together, I am going to watch out for you Sam! Because your my brother and because I—“

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be together anymore.”

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it a few times. He looked at Sam, angry and towering and impassable and at Cas, between them and looking helplessly lost and God, Dean really did this to them.

 “Fine.” He choked, finally, turning away from them and leaning hard on a table. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

Sam sharply snatched the car keys off from where Dean had thrown them down with a vicious snap.

"Fine." Sam growled, then turned, shouting out over his shoulder: ”Come on Cas."

Cas' eyes got wide and he hesitated while Sam stormed off towards the door, eyes flicking between Dean and Sam's retreating backside, looking frozen and lost.

"Well?" Dean snapped, looking down at the table.

"Dean--" Castiel started and Dean didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to see him.

"Just get lost already!" Dean practically screamed at him, throwing a tumbler to the floor, shattering the glass all across the concrete, and Cas quickly scurried away like a kicked dog.

Dean waited until he heard the sound of the car rumbling to life and pulling away from the bunker before he lost what little control he had. He wrecked the table, smashed a chair, screamed in rage, anger at himself, at his mistakes and choices because being angry now was better than the other option. He grabbed the bottle off the shelf and took a long swig, not minding the burn as it went down.

He could drink himself to death tonight, and that would be fine. He deserved whatever came next, anyway.


	17. Wherein Sam deals with trauma in destructive ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunting and Angst go hand in hand like Peanut Butter and Gross Sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious Chapter Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of violence, attempted rape, discussions of consent and other topics of that ilk.  
> Chapter Warnings: Case-Fic, A swimming pool filled with Angst, fragmented sentences masquerading as dialogue, Sam’s potty mouth.

How to Hunt without Dean Winchester: A comprehensive guide by Sam Winchester.  
  
Firstly, resign yourself to hunting. Don’t try and get a normal job or life. It won’t work, and all you succeed in doing is hurting yourself and others.  
  
Next step is to find a case. You can’t just point your car in a direction and hope to find something, after all. But after a night spent cramped up in a car thats been too small for you to sleep comfortably since you were a kid, you’ll at least need a big breakfast and coffee to get yourself going. Be sure to teach your angel companion the proper way to brush teeth and how to shave roadside (do your best not to think about your big brother teaching you this method.)  
  
Then, find breakfast. Remember you don’t have a phone or laptop on you, but you won’t go back for them. Resign yourself to using a public library or newspapers, hunting the old way. Try not to miss his stupid commentary on the obituaries, fill it with the quiet contemplation of the angel who touches his fingers to every picture in the paper.  
  
Search for a case or move onto another town, another set of papers and another diner. Repeat until a case is found. Once you find a case, another bloody and mysterious death, then climb back into the car. Give your companion the job of navigation. Point the car down the road and go. Don’t look back.  
  
(Perform well enough, and you may even smile without intending to.)

*********************

They pick up a case in South Carolina, after a couple hit and misses.  
  
Loving husbands, girlfriends, wives and boyfriends turned rapists and murderers, overnight, especially after an argument with their partner. After investigating the scene and interrogating enough of the witnesses (of which, Castiel did much better this time around,) they had come to the conclusion that these were all victims of a particularly violent spirit who’d similarly abused and butchered his family back in the sixties.  
  
But it had taken some pouring over the darker recesses of the towns history to find their vengeful spirit, while Sam scoured the online archives, Cas sorted through the files he had stolen. When Sam had finally glanced away from the screen, he saw Castiel staring down at a couple papers, looking equally upset and confused.  
  
“Hey, Cas.” Sam said, keeping his voice low. Cas raised his eyes to Sam’s, curling his fingers up and flattening them, half formed fists before curling them up.  
  
“I don’t understand,” Cas looked lost, staring back down at the papers. “Why do humans do such terrible things to each other?”  
  
Sam swallowed hard. “Because some people are just evil, Cas.” He said, finally. Firmly. “What did you find?”  
  
Cas pushed the articles across to Sam and sat back in his seat, staring into space with the same lost and upset expression until Sam had finished reading the paper and looked up at him, clearing his throat.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, this is it.”  
  
And that was that. Salt and burns are straight forward, wait until dark, get in, get out. Be on the road before anybody notices. But Cas refused to speak after that and had simply stared contemplatively into space while Sam finished up the rest of the prep, so Sam had left him alone in the room to go find them food somewhere.  
  
He was gone for nearly an hour, and when he returned, Cas stood up as soon as Sam pushed open the door, shutting it and locking it behind him.  
  
“Sam, I wanted to apologize for—“  
  
Sam crossed the room quickly, snatching Cas’ head and kissed him.  
  
It was nothing like kissing Dean, not even like kissing Meg. Sam was fiery and rough, pushing Cas back until there was a wall, smacking his head against it. Cas was pressed between the solid wall and the even more solid line of Sam’s body. And Sam bit Cas’ lip as he withdrew, leg slotted between his and Cas only had the sense to grab ahold of Sam and hold on.  
  
“Sam,” Cas gasped. “Sam, what—“  
  
Sam kissed him again, rougher and this time Cas placed his hands against Sam’s chest, pushing him away.  
  
“Sam, stop, please—“  
  
Sam growled low and smacked Cas hard on the side of his head, and while Cas’ head grew thick and dazed, Sam manhandled him onto the bed. Cas tried to push him again, weakly, but his head was still too cloudy, too stunned to formulate more than broken fragmented actions and thoughts.  
  
“No, stop—“  
  
Sam grabbed Cas’ wrist, pinning it to the wall and his other hand grabbing Cas by the ass, lifting him closer to his hips. Castiel’s head cleared in perfect time to realize what was happening and his free hand reached out, helplessly. Sam pushed him down on the bed, strong arms pinning him as he bore down on Cas. He was smiling, and for a minute, Cas looked terrified below him.  
  
Then, the lamp in Cas’ free hand knocked into Sam’s head and he toppled over.

*********************

Sam was possessed, that much was obvious, and as Cas watched him come to, he was filled with a strange sense of discomfort, staring into one face and seeing something very different staring back. It made him feel sick, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this is how Sam and Dean felt every time the looked at him, or any other angel or demon that took a human’s body.  
  
He quickly pushed that thought away when Sam tried to move, but couldn’t, the rope holding him tight to the chair.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
Sam growled at him, and Cas stood cautiously across the salt line, holding the shovel from the trunk in his hands, the only weapon he could find that wouldn’t kill Sam if he had to hit him.  
  
“Sam, I don’t know what to do,“ Cas gasped, “Please, I don’t know how to—“  
  
Sam bucked against the restraints, glaring at Cas from across the room. His jaw was set in a furious line, although he didn’t say anything, just growled furiously like some sort of beast. The salt line, however, seemed to be working—trapping Sam inside.  
  
Cas gripped the shovel handle tighter.  
  
“I’m going to try to save you, Sam.” He promised, and then turned and headed out the door, climbing into the car as quickly as he could and driving for the cemetery.  
  
To banish a restless spirit, you must purify the remains with salt and fire. Castiel knew this, but how would he get the ghost out of Sam? Would burning the remains burn away the spirit while it was inside Sam? Would it hurt Sam?  
  
His head was swimming as he tumbled out of the car, stumbling a little in the dark until he found the correct grave. He started digging, running through the same thoughts on a loop, trying not to feel the sharp pricking in his eyes.  
  
There was so much he didn’t know, that he should know. He is—was—an angel, something as mundane as a spirit shouldn’t—  
  
Cas’ hands and arms were burning with strain but he didn’t let himself stop digging or slow down.  
  
Useless. He shouldn’t be this useless.  
  
Why was his vision blurring like that?  
  
Cas paused long enough to run a hand over his eyes to find them wet but pushed that away, filed the observation away for later thought and continued digging. This was infuriating, slow and difficult and all Cas could do was struggle to keep going.  
  
His shovel hit something more solid than a clump of dirt and Cas fell to his knees in the grave, scrambling to clear away the dirt from the coffin cover before pulling it open.  
  
The body stared up at him with empty eye sockets and Cas scrambled back to his feet, pulling himself out of the open grave and reached for the bag he had brought with him from the car.  
  
Salt.  
  
Accelerant.  
  
His fingers hesitated on the matches and he licked his lips nervously. If this was wrong, and he was wrong, he could hurt Sam. Dean would never forgive him. Then again, Castiel would never forgive himself.  
  
He struck the match and dropped it into the coffin.  
  
  
Castiel was still crouched by the open grave, his head in his hands by the time the sky was growing grey in preparation for the coming dawn. He wasn’t even sure if the fire was still going or if it had consumed the bones, but he didn’t seem able to move so Cas kept his eyes closed and continued to block out the rest of the world until he was able to move again.  
  
Which wasn’t long, once he realized the ringing he was hearing was not in his head and rather, was issuing from his pocket. He pulled the cellphone from his pocket so quickly he nearly dropped it before answering the call.  
  
“Cas.”  
  
“Sam.” Cas choked on his name, and Sam fell silent on the other end.  
  
Then, “I just wanted to…if you were okay…”  
  
“I’m returning to the motel now.” Cas said, looking to the slowly brightening dawn.  
  
“Okay.” Sam sounded cautious, anxious, but Cas just hung up the phone and replaced it in his pocket before Sam could say anything else. He stood up, bones aching from sitting in the same position for so long and gathered up his supplies, walking back towards the Impala.  
  
The drive back was in numb grey dawn light, with the world hardly even stirring awake. Castiel was too tired to think about much as he made his way to the motel room, so he didn’t.  
  
When he finally reached the door, he was bone-tired and simply knocked on the door instead of trying to dig the keys out of his pocket—if he even had the keys on him, Cas couldn’t remember. Sam opened the door, looking more than a little apprehensive, but mainly cautious.  
  
This was the kid-glove treatment, Cas recognized. He had seen Dean do this to Sam, Sam do this to Dean, but he usually had simply run away before it could be given to him. Now, he couldn’t fly anywhere, so he settled for a sigh and resignation, stepping inside.  
  
“God, Cas, did I really—“ Sam started, haltingly.  
  
“It wasn’t you.”  
  
“I know but—Did I hurt you?”  
  
“No.” Cas laid a hand on Sam’s arm. “I’m fine.”  
  
Sam snorted slightly and Cas couldn’t help but feel he did or said something wrong. Cas let the silence weigh heavier and heavier before remembering to remove his hand. Sam looked like he wanted to scream. Cas felt like Sam looked.  
  
“How’d you know?” Sam asked, finally, his voice very small.  
  
“It wasn’t you.” Cas repeated, half shrugging.  
  
He made his way over to the bed and sank down onto the mattress and Sam remained staring, not quite able to look directly at Castiel.  
  
“I didn’t…” Sam huffed a laugh with no humor and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think you’d come back, Cas. I figured you’d—“  
  
“Are you going to make me leave again?” Cas whispered, like he didn’t want to part with the breath it took.  
  
“What? No! God, no!” Sam turned to look at Cas, eyes wide. “I didn’t—You can go, if you want to.”  
  
“I don’t.” Cas said firmly, then added, almost as an afterthought. “Want to, I mean.”  
  
“Maybe I should—“  
  
“We should get on the road. Isn’t that what you and…Isn’t that what hunters do after finishing a case?”  
  
“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “That’s what we do.”

*********************

Sam pointed the Impala westward down Interstate 20 and didn’t slow down until they had put a state line between them and South Carolina. While Cas slept in the passenger seat, Sam grit his teeth and tried not to scream or turn Dean’s baby into a metal pretzel.  
  
When Cas woke up, they stopped in a diner in Mississippi where Sam picked at his food and Cas made a valiant effort. Castiel didn’t say much, keeping to himself or staring out the window, but Sam, for once in his life, didn’t actually want to talk.  
  
It wasn’t until they had crossed over into Louisiana, nearing the Texas border that Sam finally gave up the ghost and found them a motel. Castiel flipped through the television before he settled on a program running cartoons while Sam looked through the newspaper, looking for cases, or maybe just looking.  
  
Sam waited until somewhere on the ass end of midnight, after Cas had curled up on the mattress and he was certain he was asleep, before pulling out a note pad and hastily scrawling some sort of excuse—hating how much he felt like his father—before grabbing his bag and heading towards the door.  
  
Like everything in Sam’s life, though, it did not go in his favor. At all.  
  
He was barely to the car when the motel door opened and Castiel burst out, and saw where Sam was. By the time Sam got into the car and started it, Castiel had run to the back of the car, blocking him from pulling out, hands on the trunk and expression firm.  
  
“Get out of the way, Cas!” Sam growled, leaning out the window enough to look at him.  
  
“You are going to leave me here!” Cas threw out, wildly, accusatory. “You took me with you and now you are abandoning me?!”  
  
“It’s for your own good!” Sam snapped back.  
  
“How!?”  
  
“You’re going to get hurt because of me!” Sam cried. “By me! Or some other angel or demon or fucking ghost or witch is going to use my body to hurt you!”  
  
“I don’t care, Sam—“  
  
“Well I do!” Sam practically kicked the door open, out of the car, balling his hands into fists and stalking towards Cas, who took a step back. “I care because from that moment that demon showed up in my nursery, my body hasn’t belonged to me. From even before that! And yknow what Cas? I’m fucking tired of it! Beyond all this destiny bullcrap and Heaven and Hell’s plans, my body has never been mine.  
  
“It doesn’t matter what I want or wanted, it never fucking mattered because what Azazel or Lucifer or even my fucking brother wanted has always overridden me. And I thought I could trust Dean! But he is just like the rest of them, he doesn’t care about me, he just wants me the way he wants!”  
  
“Dean loves you, Sam—“  
  
“Oh yeah,” Sam laughed, bitter and angry, because now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop. “He loves me so much, he has no problem giving my body over to an Angel! That is the one thing, the one thing we’re supposed to have over you guys, isn’t it? Consent? And Dean just gave mine away! Hell, at least Lucifer promised not to trick me.  
 “But the one thing this has taught me is that my body isn’t mine.” Sam continued, spreading his arms. “That’s why I gotta leave Cas, because I can’t even control my actions.”  
  
“Sam—“  
  
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be trapped in a body that isn’t yours?!”  
  
“Yes!” Cas cried through grit teeth. “I do, Sam.”  
  
Sam froze, then, mortified. Because somehow, in all of this, Sam had forgotten exactly who he was talking to. Castiel had been an Angel, a being completely incomprehensible to him, wings and eyes and body that burned the eyes of mortals who looked upon them, and somehow, in all this, Sam had forgotten that. “Oh god, Cas I didn’t mean—“  
  
“I know, Sam.” Cas approached and hesitantly reached out and gripped Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“God,” Sam moaned and leaned back against the car, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Would you look at us?”  
  
"Sam?" Cas' voice was cautious and quiet but there was a frailty there that sapped the anger from Sam like somebody had uncorked the drain.  
  
"Yeah," Sam sighed, closing his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I forgive you.” Cas shuffled closer, settling onto the space besides him.  
  
"I'm just so tired of my own body being used by others." Sam sighed. "Fuck, I still get nightmares over when Meg possessed me. I just...I want my body to be my own again." Cas shifted a little and Sam grimaced. "Sorry, I didn't mean--"  
  
"It's alright, Sam."  
  
They fall into silence, the insects buzzing in the air the only noise piercing the night.  
  
“We should return to the motel.” Castiel said finally. “Sleep is important.”  
  
“Yeah.” Sam agreed, and peeled his body away from the car and slowly they trudged back to the room. They shut the door and Sam toed off his boots and fell onto the bed, not bothering to undress and Castiel turned off the light and laid down.  
  
“Is it hard?” Sam asked, in the dark of the room, speaking more to the ceiling.  
  
“Being human, I mean.” He clarified after a moment of silence. “Is it hard being human?”  
 “It is different,” Castiel said, diplomatically, “and it is nothing like I had ever imagined it would be. But enduring the hardships of humanity are invaluable.”  
  
"You must hate it like this." Sam said, sighing. "Didn't you used to have three heads?"  
  
"I don't miss much," Castiel’s voice had a touch of sadness to it, but Sam could almost hear a slight smile in it. “Travel is slower now, and there are a lot of things I never had to consider, let alone do...but...it's not all bad."  
  
"Yeah?" Sam asked.  
  
"I have you, for one." Cas replied softly. “And your brother. I’d rather live like this, with you humans, than go back to what I was before I met you two. I would die before I let that happen.”  
  
Sam swallowed, considering Cas’ words, chewing them over.  
  
“Good night, Sam.” Cas said, and Sam could hear him rolling over in the other bed.  
  
“Good night, Castiel.” Sam echoed and stared up at the ceiling, imagining he could see stars in the stucco.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we're back! After so long and a few fake outs, I'm hoping to get back on a regular posting schedule. I became unexpectedly employed over Summer and my muse/butt-kicker[ Fallynleaf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallynleaf/profile) wasn't around to inspire/kick my butt, and I fell further and further behind on all of my projects. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and thank you for sticking with me for so long!


	18. Wherein Lucifer Drags His Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Girls just want to have a friend they can talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Dancing, Friendship, Sympathy for the Devil, Narrative Potty Mouth, Angst and Snark and Wet people

“The one thing I don’t understand,” Ava said, leaning back in the bath tub, “is why did Michael help you after the fight?”

Ava had been correct; a massage had been absolutely heavenly. Now, as she soaked in the bath tub, in water that smelled like lavender, even Lucifer seemed to have settled down.

 _“I think I’ve clearly demonstrated how much I do not understand my brother.”_ Lucifer commented, dryly.

“I suppose…” Ava ran a hand over her skin, sighing contentedly. “So, what next?”

_“I heal.”_

“How long will that be?”

_“Not long.”_

“And then?”

_“We leave.”_

“And then its back to slumming it in abandoned churches? Cause I was getting used to this.” Ava sighed, frowning and pouting slightly.

“I think you understand what comes next.” Lucifer sounded almost amused.

“Oh.” Ava said. “I guess I do.”

_“But first, Abaddon.”_

Ava smiled and closed her eyes.

*********************

The Angel Malachi was pissed off. Really scared and very pissed off. That’s probably why he killed the messenger, which felt fucking fantastic.

So Michael was back. And not only was Michael back, but he was teaming up with fucking Bartholomew of all the angels in the heavens. Half of his force had already abandoned ship the moment they heard Michaels message, and the ones that had stayed were the Angels who had shared the misfortune of being on Michaels bad side to begin with.

Malachi decidedly did not like Michael.

Well, Malachi thought, cleaning the blood off his blade, there are more than just him that want Michael very dead. And as Castiel had proved, there were more than one way to stake an Archangel. All one needed was a little creativity and some hellish connections and anything could happen.

More accurately, Malachi at least knew somebody that certainly had experience waging war against and slaughtering Archangels.

*********************

The next few days passed hazily to Ava, spent between fits of dream world and real world, while Lucifer seemed to drift equally in and out of consciousness. Occasionally, it felt like Lucifer was only staying conscious (or whatever the angelic equivalent of that might be, since Ava did not truly know what Lucifer was doing while she was dreaming) just to see what she was doing.

Ava, for one, was enjoying herself.

 It wasn’t hard to find something to do in New York City, and even though she could have sworn that she and Lucifer had burned through all the money in the wallet, it always seemed to have just enough for what she needed.

Perks of being Satan, probably.

And if Michael and the other Angels were around, she did not see them. A truce, maybe, a cease fire between the two sides of Armageddon. Which, when Ava really thought about, was probably a good thing.

Ava took herself (and Lucifer) to the Met, and it was just about as entertaining as she had thought it would be, visited the Statue of Liberty, took lots of pictures with disposable cameras and in general, acted like a tourist…both to the year 2013, and to New York City.

Which, if she were being completely honest, she totally was.

*********************

Ava copes with difficult situations by making the best of them.

She’s done it since she was a kid. 

It continued into her adulthood, really. When something bad happened, when she was unemployed or dumped, she simply made the best of the situation as much as she could, she got what enjoyment she could from even the crappiest situations.

Maybe thats why she went a little psycho when she had been taken to Cold Oak. The best she could make out of that situation was to be a little bit crazy. Ava had to survive, she had to get out no matter what. It was survival, kill or be killed. Ava had chosen to kill and she supposes that what really did her in was when she had forced herself to learn to enjoy it.

She really wasn’t a bad person before. Still went to Hell, though.

So if making friends with the Satan was just the best way to cope with the cards Ava Wilson had been handed, then that was just what she was going to do.

That was still pretty crazy, really.

Because, if you had asked Ava Wilson, pre-mortem, what she thought the Devil was like, she would tell you (after she stopped laughing,) that the Devil had red skin, goat hooves and horns and appeared mainly in cartoon shows for kids for a rabbit to drop a piano on.

If you had asked Ava, post-mortem, she would have told you the Devil was all of them, but especially a man with yellow eyes.

Lucifer was absolutely none of these things.

He was insatiably curious about things, but especially curious about human things. She would feel him watching intently even the most mundane of things. Sometimes he would ask questions, but mainly he just observed.

To say he was intelligent felt like an understatement, and yet, he could be downright childish when it came down to it. Everything to Lucifer seemed both very new and yet he was older than Ava could even really comprehend.

And maybe it came from sharing a body with the guy, but Ava was really starting to feel that whole _sympathy for the devil_ thing.

She was still probably crazy. Definitely crazy.

*********************

_Heaven, I’m in Heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak…_

Ava rest her cheek against Brady's shoulder, his arms wrapped around her waist, swaying gently to the music. They were in their living room, dinner getting cold on the table while they danced to the collection of dancing music Ava's mother had given them for their wedding.

_And I seem to find the happiness I seek…_

Ava rubbed her cheek into his scratchy old sweater that she could never quite convince him to get rid of and sighed. "I miss you," she said.

Brady gave her a gentle squeeze. He wasn't real, she knew. Fake Brady constructed with her memories and subconscious but he helped ease some of the ache.

_When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek…_

"Think I'll see you again when this is all over?" Ava glanced up at Brady.

"What are you doing?" Asked Lucifer.

He was standing in the doorway where he hadn’t been before, leaning against the frame, hands crossed lazily in front of him.

Ava had learned slowly to stop jumping at his sudden appearances, feeling more annoyance than alarm.

“We're dancing."

"Dancing?" Lucifer raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, Dancing. Ever heard of it?”

Lucifer continued to stare and Ava could feel the pique of his curiosity.

"Don't tell me you've never danced before." Ava peeled herself off Brady and stared across at Lucifer.

  Lucifer snorted, practically rolling his eyes. “Angel’s don’t dance.”

“Not even on the head of a pin?” Ava asked, then held out her hands. “Well, come on then.”

He stared blankly at her, unmoving against the door frame. “Sorry?” He said finally.

“Dance with me. I’ll teach you, it’s easy.”

“I don’t dance.”

Ava fixed him with a pointed stare and Lucifer sighed, stepping forward into the living room. He watched with a slightly bemused expression as she arranged his hands on her waist and placed her hand on his shoulder. He even took her hand and simply let himself be arranged properly.

_Dance with me, I want my arms about you…_

Lucifer didn’t even complain when Ava lead. She had taken a few dance lessons with Brady when they were getting ready for their wedding, but Brady always had two left feet, and although Ava was really no better, she had managed to fake it enough. She and Brady had even figured out a method that made it appear as if he was leading, while in reality she was. It had been rather clever, no matter how much her mother grumbled about how proper gentlemen should lead and ladies should follow.

“You think about him a lot.” Lucifer said, suddenly.

“What?” Ava blinked, momentarily disoriented.  

“Your fiancé, Brady.” Lucifer said, shrugging slightly. “You think about him a lot.”

“Are you listening in on my thoughts?” Ava frowned.

“No, but it’s hard not to here. You shouldn’t think so loudly.”

Ava rolled her eyes and made a mental note to figure out volume control on her own brain. Like that was ever going to work.

_Heaven, I’m in Heaven…_

“Why do you keep thinking about him?”  

Ava looked back up at Lucifer, expecting to find some kind of joke or if he was teasing, but Lucifer’s expression was mild, as always and appeared genuinely curious. If not a little bit confused.

“Well, because…” Ava bit her lip, “because I love him. And I miss him. I feel kinda sad whenever he isn’t around, yknow?”

“He is dead, though.” Ava flinched, even though there was no menace or cruelty in Lucifer’s voice.

“Yeah but I still love him.” She said, trying to keep her voice even and calm. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving him, even if he is…”

Ava drifted into silence and Lucifer let her, dropping the subject. They continued to dance, although after a while it dissolved mostly into swaying together to Cheek to Cheek, which had probably repeated already, but Ava didn’t mind and he didn’t say anything.

Lucifer didn’t even step on her feet once.

*********************

The party was Bartholomew’s idea. And by that, Michael means that he was barely consulted about the entire thing until the evening it was supposed to occur and Bartholomew had sent Sagnessagiel to fetch and prepare Michael, even if she had once out-ranked Bartholomew in Heaven, she was now, as Bartholomew put it, his ‘assistant.’  

“Changes in management does that.” Bartholomew had said.

Changes in management, Michael’s feathery behind. Michael may not have personally known Bartholomew (Then again, the amount of Angels Michael personally knew was limited to three and two of them were dead,) but he knew enough about Bartholomew to know that he was just the kind of person who would grab power from any and every source and rub it in everyones faces.

Which was exactly what this party was.

Supposedly, Bartholomew was doing this for advertising.

“Things have changed.” Bartholomew had explained, like that wasn’t obvious enough. “Angels expect their leadership to be accessible. They don’t want to just hear about the glory of an Archangel, they want to see for their own eyes.” Then he chuckled. “You know, Lucifer may have actually helped us, sending that Knight of Hell to attack our compound. Word of the battle has spread and Malachi is loosing followers like crazy.”  

Bartholomew was far too gleeful whenever Malachi suffering was brought up, ever ready to rub in Malachi’s face that Bartholomew had an Archangel in his side. Which was ridiculous because Michael was on neither of their ‘sides.’ Michael was on Heaven’s side.

Humility, along with assumed leadership and obedience were apparently concepts that held no weight to Angels anymore.

So Michael found himself standing in a room filled with angels and humans, holding a glass of expensive champaign that he wasn’t going to drink and remembering how much he disliked both.

He was being shown off, dumped into the middle of the crowd while Angels flock around him, all of them eager for his attention and very few of them actually saying anything of importance. There were a couple of humans in his flock, one of whom was talking quite loudly about his professional ventures and believing that the gathered crowd was all there for him.

It was getting to be too much.

“Excuse me,” Michael murmured, pulling away from the group and the gaggle of angels, making his way for…somewhere. Anywhere.

“Well, hello there.” A hand slipped through his arm, catching him. Michael looks down and sees Lucifer and his heart nearly stops.

Lucifer _looked_ just like any other human, even dressed for the occasion like the rest of them, his grace hidden so that he was wholly unremarkable. But it was Lucifer and he was here and this was not good at all. And he was smiling, which made everything even worse.

“What are you doing here?” Michael snapped, keeping his voice low.

“I just happened to see the largest gathering of Angels on Earth since the Beginning and I wanted to check it out.” Lucifer said, casually.

“Luc—“

“Careful Michael. I’m not supposed to be here, remember?”

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “What are you doing?” He asked again.

“I’m leaving.” Lucifer said and Michael opened his eyes. “While you are enjoying your party, I have a Knight of Hell to punish.”

“Funny, that you should punish disobedience.” 

“Funny that the Right hand of God should have to lobby for support like a common officer.” Lucifer snapped and then sighed. “Come on, Michael, we both know how to hurt each other best.”

“I suppose we do.”

“Look,” Lucifer took a deep breath. “You seem to have your hands full here, and I know I’ve got a mess to deal with on my end, so why don’t we just…”

Michael laughed. “Are you proposing a cease fire?”

“I’m saying…Let’s get out of this place. It’s not your style, anyway.” Lucifer said, looking away pointedly.

Michael considered for a long minute and then nodded. “Alright.”

*********************

Outside, it was a downpour. Lucifer and Michael did not want to risk flight and possibly drawing attention to themselves, so they tucked their wings in close and ran for it. By the time they made it to the Hotel, they were soaked completely and trailing puddles behind them across the marble floor but Lucifer just pulled Michael over the lobby and into the elevator and then into his room.

They didn’t say anything to one another until they were both inside the large Penthouse Suite and then it was only for Lucifer to sigh.

“For the record, this was your fault.” He said, then crossed over to the bar and pouring two generous glasses of better alcohol than had perviously been stocked.  

Michael didn’t respond to that and when Lucifer turned around, he found that him standing by the now crackling fire place, lighting some of the candles on the mantle with a touch of his finger.

He was soaked, and the white shirt he wore was practically see-through, clinging to his body while he moved. Lucifer picked up the glasses and walked over to him, handing over one of them.

Michael looked at the drink, frowning slightly but before he could say anything, Lucifer said, “just humor me, alright?”

“I’ve done nothing _but_ humor you.” Michael pointed out, but took a sip anyway.

“Like you have any right to—No, yknow what? Let’s not do this tonight.” Lucifer said, setting down his glass on the mantel, putting a hand to his forehead. “Can we just…get along? Just for a few hours, that’s all I’m asking.”

“You are the one making that impossible, brother.”

Lucifer looked up at him, frowning. “Fine.” He said, snatching his drink up again. “Be that way Michael, you are a giant di—“

Michael caught his wrist as Lucifer turned to leave, keeping him rooted to the spot. “Wait, please. Stay here.”

Their eyes locked, Michael’s hand firmly around Lucifer’s wrist, closing the distance between them and connecting them. The silence stretched on and neither Angel moved, breathed, lest they broke the fragile moment they had.

Finally Lucifer pulled his wrist free, turning away but not moving any further from Michael, unable to look at him any more.

“I miss the cage.” Michael whispered.

That startled a laugh out of Lucifer, and he turned to face his brother. “What? Have you lost it, Michael?” He half asked, half barked. “The cage was Hell. Literally. How can you miss that?”

“It was simpler, there. When it was just us. When it was just us, we were…”

“Yeah,” Lucifer cut in, looking away again. “I guess we still are, pretty much.”

“Is that why you are haunting me, Lucifer?”

“I’m not—“ Lucifer started and then looked away. “You know, I think I know why you missed it. No Father to tell us what to do, drawing lines and dividing us again.” There was a bitter, poisonous edge to his voice. “Gee, almost sounds like somebody I know. Michael, whatever has gotten into you? You’re becoming a monster like me.”

“I am _not_ like you, Lucifer.” Michael said.

Lucifer looked down at the drink in his hand and drank it down in one go. Then Lucifer reached out and grabs Michael’s hand. “Here.” He picked up a pen, writing down ten numbers.

“You can find me at this number.” Lucifer said. “Just in case.”

Michael looked down at his hand, at where Lucifer’s hands still held it and then up at his brother. “Thank you.”

“What for?” Lucifer let go of Michael’s hand and stepped back. “I didn’t do anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops I disappeared again....
> 
> I'm in my senior year so things have been a little crazy to try and write, and prepare for graduation, and send away applications, and keep on top of work all at once. I am so sorry. 
> 
> To try and keep things a little bit more manageable, I am going to be switching updates to **every other sunday.**
> 
> This will make sure I won't disappear on y'all, and also so that I can try and get back onto regularly posting. I guess we will see. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your lovely support and thank you for sticking with me this long!


	19. Wherein Groceries are Sought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things got domestic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Mush, Mentions of Past Torture, Alcohol Consumed Off Screen, Gardening, Parenthood and So Much Angsty Sap

Abner frowned at the kitchen, his mouth pressed into a tight line.  
  
The kitchen was probably more of a mess than it should have been after a little over a week of Kevin being left alone in the Bunker, but he had gone through just about all of the left over baked goods and had thrown out every custard he could find in the place and that left a lot of dishes.  
  
Not to mention, the pantry was nearly empty.  
  
(And Dean didn't seem intent on getting anything BUT alcohol.)  
  
Humans had to eat more than cake and other various baked goods, so Abner took a pad of paper from one of the tables and set about writing a list when Gadreel shuffled inside.  
  
"Dean is asleep," He reported. "And Kevin is working on the Angel tablet."  
  
Abner hummed slightly to acknowledge that he heard, finishing his list and tearing it from the pad.  
  
"The Black Impala is still missing, although the rest of the vehicles, weapons and research is accounted for." Gadreel finished, hesitantly, as if uncertain of what else to say or do. "Kevin won't let me stay nearby and the last time I tried to assist Dean, he threw a bottle at my head."  
  
"That's alright. You don't have to guard anybody," Abner told him, and Gadreel frowned as if Abner had just asserted that the sun revolved around the earth and Mars was really purple. "Come on, let's go grocery shopping."  
  
Gadreel followed Abner out of the kitchen and towards the garage. "Why?"  
  
"Because humans need more than pure carbohydrates to survive." Abner explained, inspecting the old cars before settling on one of the subtler black models that seemed newer than the rest and less likely to stand out. "Kevin is only eighteen and his body hasn't finished maturing yet."  
  
Gadreel climbed inside the car besides him, frowning slightly. “I do not understand what you see in them, Abner. Human’s are so…Chaotic.”  
  
“I don’t think they are as chaotic as you think, Gadreel.” Abner pointed out, gently as he started the car. “Angel’s just have too narrow of a vision to see things as they really are. There is purpose in their actions, in some ways. Meaning. You just have to watch them carefully enough to see it. Like the bees.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Human’s do not understand them, and when a human looks at a bee hive, it looks confusing and chaotic. But Angels—we look at them and we see the order, where they see chaos. It isn’t all that different, the other way around.”  
  
Gadreel frowned, contemplating that for a long moment in silence. “But Abner,” He said, finally, after they had already pulled out onto the road. “That would imply that the Angelic perspective is flawed and limited.”  
  
“Is it not?”  
  
Gadreel considered this the entire way to the store in silence.

*********************

Gadreel didn’t want to stop touching Abner. It was little touches, really, small brushes of hand or shoulder or wing, but Gadreel didn’t want to stop.  
  
Mostly because he couldn’t believe this was real.  
  
Abner was healthy, and happy. The scars on his grace were faded, even though Gadreel could still remember when they were fresh and when it was his own grace spilling into the gaps to try and fill them. Abner smiled and his grace sang.  
  
They were out of the prison, free. There was no Thaddeus, just Gadreel and Abner. Sure, there was the fall, there was the chaos of humanity and there was Lucifer, out there somewhere. But he was besides Abner and he was happy.  
  
Gadreel ached to believe it.  
 But in those shattered moments, when Abner was away or when Gadreel was alone, he felt the prickling of panic. Like any moment, the illusion would shatter and he would be back in his cell and Thaddeus or some new monster would be laughing at him.   That, Gadreel thought, would kill him.  
  
So he kept touching. Just to make sure.  
  
It made Castiel uncomfortable, and that in turn, made Dean uncomfortable. Angel’s aren’t supposed to touch without reserve, Gadreel knew. Touch and space are important, when you exist as energy and wavelengths rather than bodies, even an inch of space can change so much.  
  
But in prison, touch had been so vital, so key to their survival. And this was Abner, who bore it all with a patient smile and the occasional responding gesture or motion. Abner, who always would be carried away with ideas and thoughts that Gadreel couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Gadreel’s touch had always kept Abner grounded. Abner’s helped Gadreel to fly.  
  
They were walking down the street toward the grocery, shoulders just brushing when Gadreel noticed the image on the television display of a storefront. He froze, staring at the figure singing to a crowd of cheering people and shook.  
  
Gadreel hadn’t ever wanted to see his tormentor again, but there he was, blown up on High Definition Television just for his viewing pleasure. Thaddeus made lewd gestures with his vessels body and smiled like there was something raw and vulnerable before him.  
  
Abner had stilled besides him, watching the video and then watching Gadreel. Slowly, he reached out and tangled his fingers in Gadreel’s and held onto him. Reminding him where he was, and how real they were.    
  
“We’re a long way from that place,” Abner said, “a long way from him.”  
  
Gadreel nodded, and Abner smiled softly, his grace singing against Gadreel’s.

*********************

Abner kept a garden, at his home.  
  
Alexander hadn’t liked to garden, hadn’t done much but drink and gamble and yell and fight. But Abner loved to garden.  
  
Abner had always fancied himself a gardener, as opposed to a guard. He had only been to the throne room once, and he had been so enthralled with Joshua’s plants that he had lingered much longer than he should have. In Heaven, that was the initial seeds of his Doubt, and it grew out of control and wild until Abner was petulant and disobedient. Of course, ultimately Abner could blame nothing and nobody but himself for abandoning his post.  
  
He had a small vegetable garden in the backyard, and an herb garden for Ruth. He made a small canopied garden of soft grass and flowers for Delilah. He was working on the front garden, picking up a new shovel, lily-of-the-valley flower bulbs. He was going to ask about growing an apple tree.  
  
Then Gadreel had found him.  
  
Gadreel had held Abner together in Heaven’s prison, both physically and mentally. It had been hard, so hard, but Abner had learned escapism by force of will. He had asked Gadreel to tell him stories, just something to fill the silence and Gadreel had told him of the Garden. Another may have thought that Gadreel had little to talk about but Abner had discovered that Gadreel had a great deal to tell.  
  
Abner liked to pretend that Gadreel’s stories of Eden helped him too.  
  
So when Abner was released, thrust out into freedom without warning, he had little question of what he wanted to do next. Abner set himself upon finding himself a garden. His garden came with a family, and Abner was more than happy to accept them too. Humans, Abner figured, were a part of the garden too.

*********************

Grocery shopping was easy. There was a swing to it, a pattern that Abner fell easily into, so that he barely had to think as he walked the aisles, picking up the supplies they needed. It wasn’t until they hit the cereal row and Abner picked up one of the brightly colored boxes without thinking and froze.  
  
He hadn’t intended to grab it, the cereal that had been Delilah’s favorite. She had it every morning, before preschool.  
  
Abners throat tightened and he tried to swallow, shoulders slumping. Gadreel watched his friend carefully, as he quietly replaced the box on the shelf.  
  
"Abner?"  
  
"I had a daughter." Abner burst out suddenly, "and a wife. I had a whole family and a home and a garden too."  
  
Gadreel blinked at him but once Abner had started, the words poured from him.  
  
"Her name was Delilah, she'd just turned four a little bit ago and I had promised her that her daddy would never leave her or abandon her again, and--" Abner cut off, looking sharply away, his eyes burning.  
  
"My vessel was a drunk, and a brute." He continued after a long moment. "He didn't love them, but I did. I can't go back though, not now. If Lucifer or Michael--"  
  
Gadreel reached out and gripped Abner shoulder and Abner sighed, closing his eyes.

"I've got to protect them, any way I can." Abner said. "Even if it means staying far away."

"I know." Gadreel said, softly.   
 


	20. Wherein Crowley Strikes Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Arguments, Angst, Dean’s Potty Mouth, Abner’s Potty Mouth, Crowley's Potty Mouth

Heaven was never the same after the fight, after the Fall. But then again, none of them were.

Michael stopped smiling, really. Sure, the corners of his mouth would move up and it would almost look like a smile, but it wasn’t really. Something in Michael had died that day, when he had laid a hand on Lucifer and it festered.

(Gabriel would say it was Michael’s own heart, and that he had cut it out to stop the poison.)

Michael was no longer their brother, but a weapon, the leader of Heaven. Cold and hard and merciless. When Lucifer left, he took the light with him, so Michael defied his own nature and became a torch in the darkness.

Raphael changed too. He did not question like Lucifer had, but spoke in absolutes of nothingness. Hopelessness. Michael promised that God would return to them, at the End. Raphael swore that God was dead, and all that awaited was oblivion.

But there was order needed now, and Raphael had always been good at order. Michael and Raphael held their family together, stitched up the tattered remains where Lucifer had burned clean through on his descent.

And Gabriel—laughing, playful Gabriel—no matter what he said or did or tried, couldn’t mend his family. There was fighting, always fighting, the violence of a new order, and utter silence where once there had been voices. The Heaven and the siblings Gabriel knew were gone, and nothing he said or did could make it right again. He loved his brothers (all of them, the Morningstar included) and he couldn’t let them tear each other apart like this.

So he left. Ran away from his broken home and family and never looked back. Michael accepted the news unsurprised and with resignation. He had seen it coming, really.  

Gabriel had always looked up to Lucifer, most of all.

*********************

It is in Gadreels nature to protect, to guard. It was what he was made to do, what he was born for. Even after his failure, even if no one should ever trust him with guarding a jar of cookies, let alone anything of significance, Gadreel still felt the need to protect. To keep safe. To do good.

He was also, of late, getting very good at dodging flying glass bottles.

So grabbing Abner and moving him out of the way just in time to avoid the empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s that exploded against the wall was creeping towards second nature.

“Fuck off!” Dean cried. “Why are you even still here?!”

“Oh for the love of—“ Abner shouted. “Are you a Hunter or a drunken coward!?”

“I’m fucking tired of this shit, that’s what I am!” Dean responded, with so much rage in his voice that Gadreel flinched but Abner stayed on the attack.

“So Sam and Cas left you, big deal! You are Dean Winchester! The Righteous Man and Michael and Lucifer are running around up there, destroying the world!” Abner brandished the paper that had started the entire argument.

It was a newspaper that they had picked up on their grocery trip, reporting what was quickly being called ‘Terrorist’ attacks throughout the world, but it was clear none of these attacks were human in design. Although Gadreel could hardly tell at this point if the attacks were Angelic or Demonic or both, since the death tole was the same.

“And what are you doing about it?! Nothing!”

“I’ve already done my bit.” Dean growled. “I’ve given enough. I’m done.”

“People are dying!”

“People are always dying!”

“So that means your going to quit? I thought Hunters were supposed to save people! You were supposed to save people!” Abner cried as Dean picked up a new bottle, pulling it open and drinking from it. “What you and Sam and Castiel did the first time was something that had never been done before, and—“

“And maybe it was all a big fucking mistake.” Dean sneered. “If it’s not Lucifer and Michael ending the world, it was Castiel or the Leviathans or Crowley, or Abaddon and yknow what? I’m tired of always being in the center of the damn thing.”

“No.” Abner drew himself up. “No, I don’t care whatever stupid macho man pain crap you are trying to pull, but I’m not letting you get away with it and doom this planet, so get out there and _do something._ ”

Dean opened his mouth but Abner crossed the room before he could and put a hand to Dean’s forehead. There was a snap in reality, broken wings straining and Dean was gone, and Abner collapsed, Gadreel rushing forward to catch him. 

“Abner!?” Gadreel panicked, the angel’s grace fluttering weakly in his vessel’s ribcage. Abner stirred weakly, opening his eyes slightly.

“Shit…I didn’t know I could still do that.”

Abner closed his eyes and fell well and truly unconscious.

*********************

Hunting with Castiel was different than hunting with Dean, but Sam didn’t mind it at all. Cas was quiet and thoughtful, with more knowledge than even Sam had, and meticulous with details. Cas was even funny, in his own way—between his exasperation at the most minor of human necessities to what Sam was beginning to suspect was a secretly dry sense of humor that he had never quite noticed, Cas was an enjoyable partner.

They had just finished a hunt involving a nest of vampires (they had steered clear of any case that even smelled like ghosts, demons, possession and mimicking too much to handle just yet) and, running on the adrenalin rush, had stumbled to a bar to drink and celebrate a hunt well done.

And it was good. At least until Crowley showed up.

“Hello Boys.” Crowley said, smiling and spreading his hands like it was some sort of amazing thing that he just suddenly appeared behind them.

“How did you find us?” Sam asked, jaw tight. “I thought we were warded.”

“You and your brother, sure,” Crowley shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. “But Pinocchio here? Not so much. Might want to fix that before Abaddon decides she needs a break from kicking Luci’s ass from Hell and back again.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher what the demon was talking about, which was just enough time for Crowley to settle down besides them.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel demanded, finally, keeping his voice hostile.

“I can't visit my three favorite now-humans at the end of times?” Crowley smirked back. “Where is Squirrel, I have something to tell you all.”

Sam and Cas immediately look away and Crowley’s eyebrows shot up.

“You broke up already? Why Castiel, I never took you for the kiss them and leave them type....Well, I suppose I’ve been wrong before.”

“What do you want?” Cas ground out through grit teeth at the same time Sam’s head snapped up and he asked, “Wait, kiss? What kiss?”

Crowley grinned and then rolled his shoulders. “Well, the word on the street is there has been a truce between the two warring Archangels.”

“What?!” Sam nearly fell out of his seat, gaping at the Demon while Cas looked shocked.

“Lucifer and Michael called off the Apocalypse?” Cas asked, eyes wide.

“No, no, I didn’t say that.” Crowley waved his hand. “But apparently Luci and Mikey have decided they have bigger fish to fry before they can have their final grudge match and they’ve called the troops back to the home base.”

Castiel shook his head and stared down at the table.

“This does give us a unique opportunity.”

“What opportunity?” Sam asked.

"Everybody wins if Abaddon, Michael and Lucifer were dead, right?" Crowley said, leaning forward on the bar.

"Yes..." Sam said cautiously.

"Well, what if I told you I knew of a way to end this issue once and for all.”

"Yeah, last time you said that, Jo and Ellen died. And the colt didn't even work!"

Crowley frowned and it looked almost like he was trying hard not to pout or look indignant and not doing a very good job at it. "I told you, I didn't know it wouldn't work!" He said, then adjusted his tie slightly, composing himself again. "But that gun was made by human design, of course it failed! This weapon though, this weapon was made by Heavens own."

"You found an archangel blade?" Cas asked, leaning forward to bear down on the Demon. "Or did Death give you his Scythe?"

"Erm, no."

“The Book of the Damned?”

"No."

"The Hand of God?"

"No! Jesus, I thought wingless Cas would be less smiteful than the other one."

Cas frowned and opened his mouth again but Sam got there faster.

"Just tell us what it is, Crowley."

"Fine." Crowley smiled. "The first blade."

Cas' eyes grew wide and Sam frowned.

"The first what?"

"The blade Cain slew Abel with." Cas explained in a hushed voice, "The bone which Lucifer crafted to commit the first murder, so evil it turned Cain into a demon even while he lived...the instrument that turned the Fallen into the Knights of Hell."

"Wait," Sam frowned. "How can we kill Lucifer with a weapon he made?”

"He created it, yes, but it is powered by something much older than Lucifer."

"Older than Lucifer?"

"From the big daddy Himself, yes." Crowley said, impatiently. "But I know where it is."

"No." Cas said, abruptly, standing up. "The blade is evil, it carries a mark blacker the even demons like you, Crowley."

"But Cas--" Sam started, standing as well but Castiel shook his head firmly.

"No, Sam. It's not an option. The blade will turn you into something you aren't."

"What?" Sam turned to glare at Crowley, whose eyes widened and he tried his best to look innocent. "Ever heard of the mark of Cain?" Cas added.

"What? I only know about the blade." Crowley said, defensively. "But fine, if you don't want my help, I'll go get the blade _myself._ "

Then, he disappeared in a huff. Cas turned to Sam, frowning darkly.

“This isn’t good.”

“Sounds like it.” Sam said, looking down. “…We'd better get you warded."

 *********************

It was easy enough to wage a war. Michael and Lucifer had been doing so for so long, neither really knew what to do when not fighting or planning or anticipating one. This time, though, they were not fighting one another, were not pitting their armies against each other, but turning their eyes elsewhere.

It would have been strange, impossible even, had the Cage not changed things.

But here they stood, Lucifer fighting Abaddon, Michael fighting Malachi, who had gained much support, those who did not wish to return to the old ways of Heaven, those unconvinced by the Archangel, or simply those who hated the Archangel.

Michael was unused to conflict of this nature, insurrection and insubordination something that was never upheld in Heaven, snuffed out before it could be fanned into a flame. But now, it was Angel versus Angel, skirmishes across the world turning Michael’s forces into chaos.

Malachi was by far the largest opposition leader, and he was causing Michael quite a bit of trouble. He gathered up the remaining factions, the stragglers, and forced the angels that wished to remain neutral into battle. Or, simply slaughtering them.

Michael, however, was largely unconcerned. To him, there hadn’t been this sort of Angelic in-fighting since Lucifer, and Malachi, at least, was no Lucifer.

Lucifer had his own struggles, though.

Demon’s were a naturally cowardly bunch, swarming to claim loyalties to the most powerful creature in the Pit, and Abaddon had proved herself more than capable of challenging Lucifer’s previously unchallenged throne.

Abaddon largely had control of Hell, clamping down on anyone who wasn’t absolutely sworn to her cause and Lucifer’s troops dwindled with each skirmish.

The powerful allies were mostly gone, all but exterminated.

But not gone completely, just hidden.  


End file.
